𝐑 𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄?¹ - juan soto

6.

the stadium was a ghost town, the kind of quiet that felt unnatural after hours of deafening cheers and jeers. lyra lingered in the press box, her laptop open but untouched, the cursor blinking against a blank page. down below, the field stretched out in a wash of muted greens and browns, under the harsh glow of stadium lights. she should've gone home now—her shift was over, it was getting late, but something kept her rooted in place—a figure hunched in the dugout, alone. it was juan soto, his cap off, his elbows on his knees, the usual arrogance stripped away by the weight of tonight's brutal loss at yankees stadium. it was strange seeing him like this, vulnerable and still, as if the showman had finally stepped offstage.

since their run in at the club last night, lyra and juan had not been on speaking terms. she simply followed him around, neither person daring to utter a word around the other. she didn't understand why she couldn't speak to him. was it fear? was it pettiness? she had failed to answer those questions all day.

but something dangerous told her to speak to him now, at his most vulnerable moment. not for her article, not to make a sarcastic comment, but to speak to the real him. at least what she finally believed was the real him. against her better judgement, lyra left her notepad and computer behind her as she started down the steps to juan.

she gingerly walked down the steps, her mind racing. juan deserved the criticism. he deserved every word of her article. but why did she feel this knowing guilt as she looked upon him? this wasn't part of her job. she wasn't here to comfort him. but the tightness in her chest made her keep walking.

did juan just make her go soft?

she cautiously entered the dugout, a wave on uncertainty washed over her. was this a mistake?

the clicks of her heels certainly notified him of her presence. the faint hum of stadium lights buzzed in the background as lyra wordlessly sat at the same bench as juan, but not too close to him. he didn't look at her, his head bowed and his arms clasped as she arrived. for a moment, she considered getting up and leaving. the moment felt too raw—too personal. but then he let out a sharp exhale, a sound heavy with frustration. she found herself scooting closer to him.

rough night?" she asked, her voice soft but steady.

juan didn't look up. "you here to write the follow-up hit piece?"

lyra leaned against the edge of the dugout bench, arms crossed. "if i wanted a quote, i'd already have it. believe it or not, i'm not always working."

he finally lifted his head, his dark eyes sharp but weary. "could've fooled me."

she ignored the jab, letting the silence stretch between them. "you're usually gone by now. why are you still here?"

he hesitated, his jaw tightening. "why do you care?"

"i don't," she said quickly, though the lie sat heavy in her chest. "just... seems like you're not used to losing. thought it might be getting to you."

he let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "losing? that's the easy part. It's everything else that comes with it."

lyra tilted her head, curiosity sparking despite herself. "what's 'everything else'?"

for a moment, he didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the dirt floor. "you wouldn't get it."

"try me," she challenged, her voice quiet but firm.

juan's shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, and when he finally met her eyes, the frustration was gone. his eyes told her something indescribable, something one could only feel in that moment.

"it's not just about losing. people think it's simple—hit the ball, catch the ball, smile for the cameras. but when you lose? it's not just you—it's the team, the city, the expectations. and for someone like me?"he gave her a pointed look, "there's no room for mistakes."

lyra leaned forward, slightly, "someone like you? you mean a star player?"

juan scoffed, "no, I mean a dominican player. the 'next big thing.' The guy everyone expects to be perfect on and off the field. and when i'm not? headlines like yours come out."

she paused, her voice softening, "look... i owe you an apology for that article. i was too harsh, and i didn't think about the pressure you're under or what it's like for someone in your position."

juan's tone went sharp once again, "really? didn't seem like you cared when you were grilling me during that press event."

lyra sighed, crossing her arms. for once, he was right. "okay, i'll admit it. i went too far there, too. but you weren't exactly innocent either."

juan rubbed the back of his neck, "yeah... about that. i shouldn't have gotten in your face like that at the club. i acted like a jerk, and I'm sorry. i just—" he hesitated, "i don't know why I let it bother me so much."

she raised an eyebrow, smirking, "maybe because you hate when people don't fall at your feet?"

juan smirked back, "maybe." he leaned in, "or maybe it's because i actually care what you think."

the sudden closeness caught her off guard. she scooted back, slightly, "well, for what it's worth, i care what you think, too. you were right about one thing—i was looking for the worst in you." she sighed, reluctantly admitting, "i wasn't being fair."

juan studied her for for a moment. lyra smiled, faintly, "i guess seeing you with the little kids made me realize there's more to you than what i thought." lyra paused, slowly making eye contact. "i understand what it's like to feel the weight of expectations. i'm dominican too. juan. and people like us? we work twice as hard to get half as far. our background comes with its own set of impossible standards. i can't afford mistakes, either."

juan looked surprised, "you're dominican? why did you never tell me?"

"i didn't think it mattered to you. but yeah, my mom's from santo domingo, and my dad's from sicily. she used to tell me about it all the time." juan's eyes lit up. lyra chuckled lightly, "why are you so excited, soto?

"you know i grew up there, right?" his eyes softened as he looked at her, "maybe we're not as different as i thought."

she smirked, "don't push it. we still have plenty of differences."

juan smiled, "fair enough. but for what it's worth... i'm sorry, too. i shouldn't have been so defensive earlier. or at the club. I guess i was just tired of feeling like i had to prove myself to everyone all the time—even you."

she scooted closer to him, staring up at him, "then maybe we should call a truce. start over."

he raised an eyebrow, "start over?"

"yeah. no more arguments, no more passive-aggressive comments. just... you being you, and me figuring out what that actually means."

his body language relaxed. he held out his hand, "alright. start over. hi, i'm juan. you might've heard of me." his all too familiar smirk returned but it was softer, exuding a teasing energy rather than arrogance.

she rolled her eyes, taking his hand, "lyra. you might've read my work."

juan grinned, "oh, i have. Not sure it's pulitzer-worthy, though."

lyra laughed despite herself, "there goes the truce already."

"what can i say? i'm a work in progress."

lyra shook her head, standing and glancing toward the field. for the first time, the tension between them felt lighter, a cautious but undeniable shift toward understanding. she headed for the steps, her heart lighter than when she arrived.

"goodnight, juan."

"goodnight, lyra."