"This much legroom feels illegal." I stretched, leaning against the headrest of the couch.

"We should just always have away matches—" Teo declared from the sofa behind me. "All the matches should be played out of Milan. Preferably a few hours away. More chartered planes, please."

"I could get used to this—" Pippo groaned as he took another sip from his soda can. "Don't tell Coach Vance," he added as he reached for a bag of potato chips.

I snatched it away from him as he scowled, and shoved it into one of the storage compartments. "You've got like four days before the championship ends, then you can have as much sodium as you want."

He grumbled something before pulling his headphones over his ears and slumping back into the headrest. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

"Oh yeah," I grinned. "Otherwise you would so totally beat me up."

"I would."

"Would not."

"You wanna try?"

"You wanna stay on the bench tomorrow?"

"Tyrant," he declared, turning his face away from me, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

I glanced over at the back of the plane, where Elliot sat cross-legged on a large sofa beside the window, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low over his head, messy blonde hair poking out from under it. He had earphones on, presumably playing one of those white noise tracks he'd told me about. He was leaning forward slightly, a book open on his lap, his eyes focused.

I got to my feet and made my way over to him, slumping into the empty seat beside him as he stiffened up.

"Whatcha reading?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder. "That looks boring," I declared.

He glanced at me, and I repeated myself. "What book is that?" I pointed at the open page.

"Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix," he responded, shutting it to show me one of the original printed copies.

"You don't seem the type to read Harry Potter," I smirked, reaching over to smooth the messy hair on his forehead. "All logic and brain, and here you are reading about floating brooms and potions."

"It is rather comforting," he said. "I do not have to think about analysis when I read a children's book. Same with Famous Five, Secret Seven—I had the entire collection of Hardy Boys in my childhood bedroom."

"Oh, I can imagine," I smiled at him. "Little Elliot cooped up in his room all day. His mom trying to pry him away from the book to socialize, but to no avail."

"No," he shook his head. "My mum, in fact, encouraged reading books. They were my only interaction with the outside world till I joined Kingsley."

"Oh. So what, you were homeschooled?" I asked.

"Yes," he nodded, placing a bookmark carefully between the pages and setting the book on the table in front. He removed his earphones, meticulously placing them in their case and slipping them into his pocket. "I preferred it quite a bit. Boisterous children in the school meant I had a very hard time understanding. And the school was very iffy about employing a translator; they suggested a special school for me so the students would not make fun of me. Back then, I also had a deaf accent."

"A deaf accent?" I asked, the idea of a small, lonely Elliot sending a pang of agony through my chest. "What is that?"

"Because of a lack of a feedback loop—" he started, "my sense of pitch, rhythm, and consonants was highly sacrificed. My mum got me extensive speech therapy, hours a day. She focused even more on that than my academics."

"Yeah, kids can be assholes," I scoffed. "I should know. I was one of them."

"You were not an asshole. You have never been an asshole," he said, knitting his eyebrows. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, I bullied a deaf kid back when I was a teenager," I reminded him. "Granted, I did not know he was deaf. But still."

"You were not... an active participant in such situations," he said. "You were more... passive. I understand. They are your team. You clearly love them a lot and would choose them over the weird kid with a varied pitch."

"You're not... weird," I said. I leaned in, nuzzling his nose gently with mine. "And you're totally underselling how much of an asshole I was to you."

He giggled and leaned back, his eyes twinkling. "I definitely am not your definition of normal. And—" he pointed to his eyes and then my lips, "I have no clue what you said after that."

"Maybe that's better," I said, grinning at him. "And no, you are normal. You are just... Elliot." I smiled at him. "And I'm starting to think that's the perfect version of you."

He leaned his head against my shoulder, holding my arm in his. I glanced up ahead at the rest of the team, most of whom seemed passed out in their respective seats.

"Hey," I muttered into his hair, planting a soft kiss and reaching for his hand.

He glanced up at me, his chin resting on my shoulder. I entangled my pinky around his. "We gotta win this, okay?"

He nodded, his eyes on my mouth. I leaned in to kiss his forehead once, before turning away from him and placing my head against the headrest, drifting off into a comfortable sleep despite the awkward position.

I woke up hours later with a crick in my neck to murmurs and choked laughs. I rubbed my eyes, sitting up straighter to see Pippo, Teo, Rossi, and Ricci all standing in front of me. Teo and Pippo had their phones out, while Rossi seemed to have seen a ghost, and Ricci was doubled over laughing.

"What?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"What? You are cuddling Elliot Hayes," Pippo said, his eyes shining as he pointed at Elliot, who was still fast asleep against my shoulder, one of his hands resting loosely against mine.

"He fell asleep against me," I stated, my face burning. "Are you taking a fucking picture?"

Teo shook his head immediately, his eyes wide. "Nope. Absolutely not."

I slapped a hand against my forehead. "What are you guys? Twelve?"

"Twelve inches deep—" Teo guffawed.

"You give me too much credit," I murmured, gently placing Elliot against the headrest instead. "When are we landing?" I asked, ignoring the hollow pit in my stomach.

"No no no no no," Rossi chuckled. "You are not getting away with this, Capitano Moré. Even newbie Bennet saw you guys getting cozy. But it's okay, you guys look so cute, honestly."

"Bellini the shipper," Teo gave a low whistle. "Rat bastard was right. Unless you're doing this for the guy's social status like he mentioned?"

"No, I'm just trying to be a decent human. He fell asleep on my shoulder; what's the big deal?" I said, my voice firm. I needed to act like it wasn't a big deal. I needed to act like my heart wasn't thumping somewhere in my throat.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, we are just messing with you, fra—" Teo slapped my shoulder playfully, but I jerked his hand away and got to my feet.

"You guys need to stop acting like children and focus on the game. Don't fucking let me down tomorrow." I stormed into the restroom, shutting the door behind me and leaning against the sink. I twisted the faucet open and washed my clammy face with trembling fingers. What the fuck was I doing? How was I going to explain this shit away? And the photos... what if they got out? Bellini would have an absolute blast with those.

I went back outside and walked over to Teo, stretching out a hand. "Phone."

He blinked up at me. "What?"

"Give me your phone," I repeated. "Now."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "No."

"Santoro—"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off my back, Moretti," he shoved my shoulder.

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" I snarled at him. "You take those pictures for what? What if they got out? You want Bellini to get his slimy hands on them?"

"You think I'm some sort of weird psycho double agent that's going to sell the photos?" he scoffed. I was aware of the rest of the team looking at us, but I didn't care. "Besides—" he rose to his feet, crossing his arms in front of his chest in challenge. "He just fell asleep against your shoulder, right? Why are you getting all bent out of shape, then?"

"Because you know what it looks like! You know what Bellini and the others would make it look like!"

"That you're lying to our faces?" Rossi muttered from somewhere behind Teo. The temperature in the plane seemed to plummet rapidly as my blood turned to ice. He got to his feet, leaning against the back of Teo's seat as he glared at me.

"W... what the fuck are you on about?" I asked, putting all my energy into keeping my voice steady, even though my legs felt like jelly.

"The closet is glass, Moré," Rossi scoffed. "Crazy how you let us shit-talk the guy you're boning just so you can maintain your image."

My ears rang, my brain pulsating ruthlessly against my skull.

"We are just having fun here. Your secret is safe with us. Just stop lying to our faces and shitting on Hayes with us when he's not around. That's not respectable."

"That's... not true," I said slowly.

"What's not true?" Rossi raised an eyebrow.

My entire life flashed behind my eyes. Nonna. Lucy. The mold still growing back in my childhood bedroom. My mother, too sick to speak in her final days. The image I had painstakingly built, the one that relied on a straight, hot-headed soccer hearthrob.

"There's nothing between Elliot and I," I said. "You know how he is. He's... he's not like us," I said, my throat suddenly dry. "So yeah. Someone has to be more patient with him. So I choose to be. I'm a little softer to him. Kinder to him. Because I have to be. We need him to win. Whatever he feels for me is... It's not my problem."

I was a fucking coward.

"So what, is he like, in love with you?" Pippo asked, popping his head from behind Teo.

"I don't fucking know," I lied. He had let me in. He had let me touch his hearing aids; he had been in his vacuum with me. "Why does it matter? Why are we having this soap opera shit one day before the biggest match of our career?"

Teo shrugged, raising his hands in surrender. "You love making your life hard, Moré," he muttered before leaning back into his chair like he hadn't just left me burning and naked in front of the whole team.

I walked slowly back to the very front of the plane, slumping into one of the empty seats and pulling my hoodie low over my head. I hadn't yet decided what Elliot and I were, but the cost of whatever it was was already crystal clear.