glasses

After the Whistle

The gymnasium echoed with cheers as the final whistle blew. Nicolás stood in the center of the court, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple, and a wide grin plastered across his face. The scoreboard confirmed it—**25-18**. They had won. Again.

The crowd erupted, and his teammates surged toward him, slapping his back, ruffling his hair, and shouting his name.

"You're unstoppable, Nico!"
"Man of the match, as always!"
"Do you even break a sweat out there?"

Nicolás laughed, his energy still buzzing from the match. He was used to this—being the best player, the star of the team. But even as he basked in the glory, his sharp eyes scanned the gym. Among the chaos, one figure stood out.

Román.

Sitting alone on the bench, his posture relaxed but distant. His glasses caught the harsh gym light as he looked down at his phone, seemingly oblivious to the celebrations happening just a few meters away.

Nicolás frowned. While the rest of the team had swarmed the court to share the victory high, Román hadn't moved. Not even a glance in his direction.

"Hey, Nico! Where are you going?" one of his teammates called, but Nicolás was already weaving through the crowd, heading straight for the bench.

Román didn't look up as Nicolás approached. His fingers tapped idly on his phone, the faint sound of music leaking through his earbuds.

"Román," Nicolás said, his voice tinged with frustration. No response.

He tried again, louder this time. "Román!"

Finally, Román sighed and pulled out one earbud, tilting his head slightly to look up. His dark eyes behind the glasses were as calm as ever, betraying nothing.

"What?"

Nicolás blinked, thrown off by the coolness of his tone. "Seriously? That's all you've got to say?"

Román raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About the game!" Nicolás gestured around the court, where their team was still shouting and laughing in a messy circle of celebration. "We just won, Román. You're not even going to say anything? No 'good job, Nico'? No 'that spike was incredible'? Nothing?"

Román shrugged, his expression unreadable. "It's volleyball. You always win. What's there to say?"

Nicolás stared at him, a mix of disbelief and irritation bubbling up. He wasn't used to this—not from Román. Usually, Román had something to say, even if it was sarcastic or dry. But this... this indifference felt like a slap in the face.

"Why are you being like this?" Nicolás asked, crossing his arms. "Everyone else is out there celebrating, and you're just... here. Ignoring me."

Román looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, Nicolás thought he wouldn't answer.

Then, quietly, Román said, "Because it's not my thing. All the yelling, the jumping, the... chaos. It's just not me."

"Not your thing?" Nicolás repeated, his voice rising. "But I'm your—" He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

Román's gaze snapped back to him, sharper now, like he'd noticed the slip. "What?"

"Nothing," Nicolás said quickly, shaking his head. His chest felt tight, frustration mixing with something else he couldn't quite name.

For a moment, they just stood there—Nicolás towering over Román, whose expression had softened just slightly, like he was starting to feel guilty.

"Look," Román said after a pause, his tone quieter now. "You played great. Like always. I just... I don't see the point of acting like it's the first time you've done something amazing."

Nicolás's frustration wavered, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn't the praise he was used to, but coming from Román, it somehow felt more real.

"Thanks, I guess," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Román rolled his eyes. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," Nicolás said, the grin breaking free now.

He lingered for a moment longer, watching as Román tucked his earbud back in and returned to his phone. Something about him—his quiet, almost detached presence—made Nicolás's heart beat a little faster.

Shaking his head, he turned back to his team, but not before glancing over his shoulder one last time.

Román didn't look up, but Nicolás couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't as indifferent as he wanted everyone to believe.