(Mike's POV, a month ago)

I clenched the top of my jersey with my hands in the rain, attempting to dry them off.

I reached down and picked up a football. I threw it, but it was a wobbly throw. My hand had been jammed the last couple of days, and I, not wanting to risk my role as 1st string, had played through it, and hurt it worse.

Before, my throw was a perfect, neat, tightly bunched spiral. Now it looked like one of those clay ducks that you throw in the air to shoot at.

I threw another football down at the ground in frustration. "Damn it!" I growled.

"Mike?" A voice sounded. I turned around wearily. "How did you get into the facilities, Zoe?" I asked.

She had an umbrella, so she was reasonably dry, as opposed to my soaking wet jersey and hair.

She dangled a pass out in front of herself. "They never revoked my employee's pass," She explained. She hesitated and continued. "I needed to talk to you."

I nodded eagerly, thinking it might just be good news.

She put her hand on the collar of my jersey. "Mike... I know you like me. And I like you too. But I won't distract you, I know what your goals in life are."

My eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Zoe, the Hall of Fame doesn't matter is to me! I-"

She cut me off, stating firmly "I will not hold you back, I will not take your focus away from your aspirations, I will not be a roadblock on your pathway to the Hall of Fame!"

My face crumpled. "Zoe-"

"Don't make this harder than it has to be Mike! I refuse to hold you back! You can get over me, it's not like you're in love with me or anything!"

But I am.

She gave me a fleeting kiss and one last sad look. "Goodbye, Mike. I really do hope you make it into the Hall of Fame."

The rain poured over me, making my hair stick to my forehead as I stared at the spot Zoe had been at, dumbfounded.

The last football that I had brought dropped out of my hand, making a resounding thudding noise that jarred me out of my shock.

I wrapped a towel from my bag around my neck and hurriedly picked up the pack, just wanting to get away from that field, where she had stood, and rejected me, for my own good.

Well, guess what? I didn't give a damn about the Hall of Fame. But fine, if it meant that much to her, enough for her to reject me like that, then I needed it.

(Ben's POV, still a month ago)

I watched where Mike was pacing obsessively in front of the TV as the ESPN commentators were ranking the players.

He wouldn't tell me why, but around two days ago, he had turned into this obsessive, football monster.

I called it  OFD: Obsessive Football Disorder. It really wasn't something to joke about, and I was really worried about him.

He slaved over his technique, staying hours, and hours after practice to spend time on the field honing his skills.

He would show up at my doorstep at 2 AM in the morning, with rimmed, bloodshot eyes, and his jersey stained with dirt, mud, and grass stains.

Erica would peer worriedly out of her bedroom door as I would make Mike a mug of tea, and tuck him in like he was a little kid, murmuring encouraging words at him as I did so.

One night I found him shaking with silent tears, slumped over on my porch, looking so utterly and completely heartbroken that it shattered my heart, and I sat down next to him in solitude, not talking nor making a move to get up, just sitting Shiva for him.

So that he knew he wasn't alone.

Little did he know he would soon be in a similar situation 😈  sorry I'm sorry, not really tho.

Erica found us that way in the morning, sitting silently on the porch, tear tracks on Mike's cheeks, and blotchy red spots on his face, and left us with two mugs of teas, wisely not interfering with the process.

What the process was, I wasn't really sure. I just knew that Mike needed me, and if he needed me, I was there.

There was a lull in Erica and I's acting, as the latest season of our show had been a hit; and I made enough that I didn't need to take on any more jobs. In fact, I had already amassed a small fortune through my acting, and I knew Erica also accumulated a small fortune.

After the night on the porch, Mike had slowly but surely started to piece himself together, until it all fell apart, on the day both of us had been ruined.

*cough cough* the party from Perfect Hollywood World *cough cough*

A few days prior to the party, Zoe had posted a couple's photo of her and man similar to our age on her Instagram, driving the slowly mending Mike back into the ground.

The man was, upon closer inspection, Will Poi, a well-known figure in the Music industry. He had smooth dark hair, a slightly crooked nose, and a crooked smile to match his nose. His hair was sleek and shiny and had large amounts of product in them.

So, when the party had happened, Mike had taken the opportunity and ready-made excuse to get totally, completely, out of his mind drunk.

But before that night, I had no idea what was going on with my friend, and I would stare up at the ceiling at night, hoping that Mike was alright, and wondering what was bothering him so badly, causing him to act the way he was.

So, like the worried friend I was, I stared up at the ceiling.

Staring, and wondering.

Wondering what in hell was hurting my best friend to the brink of insanity, causing to show up at my doorstep tired from nonstop practice, and then drunk out of his mind the very next night.

So now we got a look at what was going on with Mike this entire time 😟. While the Berica was happening, Mike was suffering the entire time.