Oasis
Request: Yes or No
Summary: Life at HPC has had its unexpected twists and turns for (Y/N) (L/N), but it gradually takes on unsteady, foreign waters when secrets are revealed and romance blossoms.
Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader
CW/TW for series: Typical Olympo warnings, implied/unspecified mental illnesses, implied ED and downsides to extreme athleticism, homophobia, violence, mentions doping (performance enhancing drugs)
I know nothing about sports so bear with me. While ik some of the fandom view Sebas as bi, he reads more comphet to me so I've written him as such.
~~~
At Pirineos Center of High Performance, everyone woke up just a few minutes before the sun itself peeked over the forested mountains surrounding the school like clockwork.
If you were to enter one of the dorm rooms at five in the morning, you'd find the athletes doing their morning stretches to prepare for a long day of training, showering and slipping into their sports wear or swimsuits, and stuffing whatever they needed into their bags before they headed off to eat a hearty breakfast in the cafeteria and meet up with their teammates.
(Y/N)'s mornings were rarely any different. He woke up right when the midnight blue of the early morning sky began to lighten into lighter blues and soft purples, followed by the reddish-orange hues of the sun rising. He'd take a minute or two to stare up at the tall ceiling each morning, feeling weightless and hollow, a ghost trying to come back to life.
His dormmate, Omar, would wake up right when he slipped out of the bathroom, already dressed in one of his many basketball shorts and a random jacket thrown on, usually his plain black one, or the navy blue one with the HPC logo in white across the chest.
While Omar used the bathroom, he'd do a few stretches consisting of shoulder rolls, torso twists, and arm circles before he stuffed his things into his duffel bag and swung it over his shoulder.
By the time the clock struck six-fifteen, the hallways were erupting with life from every corner, with students wandering the halls in search of their friends or hauling their gear and equipment to their designated training areas before they found their way into the cafeteria.
It was then that (Y/N) parted ways with Omar and strolled over to one of the tables occupied by familiar faces.
"My man!" Cristian greeted him with one of his typical bright, preppy smiles that made crinkles appear around the corners of his dark, hazelish green eyes.
Immediately, Cristian pressed his body into Roque's side, forcing the rugby captain to finish stuffing his cheeks full of the remainder of his breakfast burrito before he scooted further down the bench and dragged his tray along with him.
With a satisfied hum, Cristian patted the spot on the bench beside him and watched (Y/N) take up the space with a pleased smile. Roque grunted a greeting at him, his mouth too full to form proper words, and attempted to chew a little faster.
"And Amaia?" (Y/N) stuck his spoon into his bowl of greek yogurt and stirred it around, watching the sliced strawberries, honey, and bits of sticky granola mix together with the creamy yogurt. "Is she in the pool already?"
He knew the answer.
Anyone who had the pleasure of meeting Amaia Olaberria would've known the answer, because Amaia wouldn't be Amaia if she weren't spending every possible waking moment in the damn pool. She was constantly swimming, constantly practicing, constantly itching to get back in the water whenever she was out of it.
She would swim until her fingers became pruney, until her hair grew brittle from constant exposure to the chlorine, until the lights were turned off and the staff were ready to haul her to her dorm.
Nobody could take Amaia out of the water, not even her boyfriend.
Cristian's smile fell into a tight-lipped one, and he gave the little exhale of a defeated man. "You know it. I told her she should eat first, but she swore she wasn't hungry yet."
"She's like the husband who works nine to five and you're the pitiful housewife," (Y/N) said after a spoonful, his mouth curling up into a half-mocking, half-teasing smirk. Cristian lightly kicked his ankle beneath the table. "What? It's true. You're her little pet, following her around aimlessly and whining for attention. I respect your commitment to being the pathetic, pretty boy toy, Cris. I can't blame Amaia for keeping you around with that face of yours."
Cristian propped his head up on his fist and tilted his head toward him, his smile lifting slightly, and a soft chuckle escaping him. "I love you, tío."
He looped his arm around (Y/N)'s shoulder and tugged him closer, hints of sandalwood from his cologne tickling (Y/N)'s nose.
"Your compliments are one of a kind." He pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head before releasing him and turning to fall into conversation with Roque.
Somewhere during the previous year, Cristian Delallave had abruptly made it his mission to befriend him. (Y/N) wasn't sure if it'd been a bet made by Roque or one of his teammates, but the blonde began springing up everywhere (Y/N) went.
He showed up at the boxing gym at random hours to cheer him on, began sitting by him during breakfast and lunch (thus forcing the rest of his friends to follow) to blabber about things (Y/N) barely understood, and hovered like a pestering mosquito during parties until (Y/N) begrudgingly accepted his presence.
(Y/N) learned many things about the younger Delallave son that year. Like, how Cristian both loved and loathed his brother; for his fame, for his rugby skills, for his unbearable talent to get under Cristian's skin with a few words and cocky smirks.
He was easy to please and entertain. He was decent at rugby, but his average skills made him insecure in a team of star athletes and envious of his brother, something he freely murmured about to (Y/N) during the quiet, melancholy moments.
Cristian was a crybaby, too. He cried when he was upset, overwhelmed, angry, or panicked. His mouth would twist up into a pinky, little pout, and his eyes would flood with unstoppable tears.
It was less pathetic than (Y/N) had been expecting when he'd first seen Cristian cry. It'd been more like looking at a sad, whining little puppy waiting to be picked up and coddled. Pitiful, but endearing.
Above all else, Cristian was affectionate. It came to him as naturally as breathing. He was constantly touching his friends in one way or another, whether it was an arm slung around their shoulder, or his body leaning into their side, or his arms wrapped around them from behind.
Amaia was the recipient of most of his affection as his girlfriend, which meant having to sit by and watch them shove their tongues down each other's throats until they were content.
With Cristian came his group of friends, which (Y/N) quickly learned were all a package deal: Roque Pérez, the captain of the rugby team Cristian was in and his dormmate; his girlfriend, Amaia, captain of the synchro team; and Amaia's dormmate and best friend, Núria Bórges, another synchro swimmer.
While Roque and Amaia had been less forthcoming about the new friendship, Nunu adjusted with ease, and after a month of becoming the last piece to the puzzle that was their friend group, he gave dating at HPC a try for the first time in the three years he'd been there. The relationship crumbled within days, though it hadn't been for lack of trying.
(Y/N) shoved another spoonful in his mouth and scanned the cafeteria, no longer bothered or annoyed when he felt Cristian's calf press against his. Sometimes, it felt weird when Cristian wasn't all over him. It was grounding, somewhat, like he was the anchor to all their ships, keeping them from drifting too far.
There were still athletes coming and going through the doors of the cafeteria, either having finished their breakfast and wanting to get a jump start on training or having already done some mild warmups before finally stopping by to grab some food and catch up with their friends.
Most athletes hung around their teammates; it was simpler that way. Your teammates were more likely to understand you than someone from a different sport.
Some sports were looked down on more than others, too, like the cyclists who huddled together that Amaia enjoyed muttering about because all they seemed to do was ride the trails, hog the exercise bikes, and act like every other sport was out to get them. (Y/N) liked bothering them. It was fun watching them get all riled up over riding a bike.
Plenty of the rugby team lingered around them, laughing and pushing and occasionally calling out to Cristian or Roque with inside jokes and terms (Y/N) couldn't understand. Charlie passed by their table with a wide grin, nodding to Cristian and Roque before extending his fist out to (Y/N) in greeting.
Behind him trailed his shadow, otherwise known as Sebas, who had the common sense to keep his arms at his side and curl his lip in a wince when (Y/N) held Charlie's gaze in a glare.
"Good morning to you, too, (Y/N)." Charlie, unfazed as always with the usual rejection, dropped his arm and took a seat at the nearby table.
Sebas remained standing, his dark eyes gliding from Charlie back to (Y/N), his lips pressing together as if he wanted to say something. (Y/N) watched him for a beat longer, waiting for something, since all Sebas seemed to do around him was stand and stare, but when arms wrapped around (Y/N)'s shoulders from behind, Sebas stepped back and took the spot beside Charlie.
"Did you guys miss me?"
Even if she hadn't spoken, (Y/N) knew that cherry and cinnamon perfume smell anywhere. He'd been the one to buy it for her as a birthday gift, and halfway a 'sorry-our-relationship-fell-apart' gift.
Nunu gushed about the blush pink perfume whenever someone mentioned the smell, and she wore it with pride. (Y/N) didn't hand out gifts to just anyone.
Predictably, Cristian looked the most thrilled by Nunu's return, twisting around at the sound of her voice and extending his arms out for a tight hug that left (Y/N) smushed between their bodies.
Nunu pulled back, a soft, excited squeal rushing past her lips when she went to hug Roque. She still had her backpack slung over her shoulder, the uninjured one, meaning she'd only recently arrived back at the center.
"How are you?" Roque asked, his hands gently cupping Nunu's elbows, as if she were fragile. It was humorous, the difference in size. Roque was tall, well-muscled, practically thick everywhere. Nunu looked like a child when she stood next to him, all big, wide eyes and giggly voice. "The shoulder?"
"I'm good, I'm fine," Nunu assured them with a little laugh, flicking her wrist to wave them off. She, like Cristian, never took things too seriously, even their respective sports. It grinded on Amaia's nerves. It left (Y/N) wondering how they were still at HPC. "I'm feeling better. Amaia?"
The answer came from three different, echoing voices: "Pool."
Nunu nodded, her smile a little wider with anticipation, and she swooped down to plant a kiss on (Y/N)'s temple as she walked by, her step quickening to reunite with her true soulmate. (Y/N) watched her walk away, and when he looked back at the guys, Cristian was already watching him with a grin.
Cristian loved gossip the way retired elderly women who had nothing better to do did in their big, boring suburban neighborhoods. He ate it up, gasping and giggling and eager to hear more.
"Did you two text while she was away?" He wiggled his brows, almost hopeful.
"No." Cristian's face fell into disappointment. He'd been partial to playing matchmaker and felt pretty proud when the relationship blossomed. "There are better things to worry about than a bad shoulder."
Cristian blew a raspberry, and he bumped his shoulder against (Y/N)'s. "Everyone knows you and Amaia will be the first ones to get the Olympo sponsorships. You're the best boxer Gonzalo has."
"He'll be the only boxer Gonzalo has if he keeps sending the others to the infirmary." Roque leaned around Cristian as he spoke, his brows lifting in an almost scolding way as he stretched out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Your knuckles?"
Cristian's warm hands wrapped around (Y/N)'s, momentarily forcing him to release his spoon, and dragged his arm across the table so he and Roque could prod at the knuckle bandages he wore like rings.
(Y/N) let them fuss, considering it was their favorite activity to do each morning and each evening, even while sporting bruises and sprained ankles or sore shoulders from time on the field.
They hemmed and hawed over his hand like a pair of worried parents for a couple of seconds, gently poking and muttering, while he used the other hand to finish the rest of his breakfast.
Once they were satisfied with their fussing and his lack of great injury, Cristian released his hand and gathered the trash onto his tray before stacking it on top of the other two and standing up.
Once his body rose off the bench and toward the nearest trash can, Roque took up the space by sliding across the bench and slinging one muscular arm around his shoulders.
Eyes flickered toward them instantly, studying and watching intently, searching for anything vaguely romantic to gossip about. They looked away sharply when (Y/N) spotted them.
Roque and Cristian could be as affectionate as they wanted. Cristian was completely obsessed with Amaia, and women in general, so no one batted an eye when they were all over each other, hugging and clinging with dramatic words of love.
It was a different story with (Y/N); the school tolerated their sexualities as long as it wasn't obvious.
People teased Roque about it more, but he took it in stride, viewing them as light-hearted jests or uneducated but well-meaning questions. They'd tried it with (Y/N) back when he casually confirmed to Cristian he was into women, men, and everyone in between, within the earshot of multiple other athletes.
Alejandro Boleo made one comment, something about who did the bending between him and Roque, and nearly vomited his lunch when (Y/N)'s fist slammed into his gut. That was the end of anyone saying anything remotely offensive to his face.
"What do you want?" (Y/N) asked with a theatrical sigh, reaching down to his duffel bag and retrieving a bottle of water that he drank until it was halfway empty.
Roque smiled at him, all teeth and laugh lines. He pulled him in the slightest bit, his head tilting toward his ear, close enough that his breath felt hot against his skin.
"He's watching." He purred, thrilled excitement slipping into his voice and his arm lightly shaking (Y/N)'s shoulders. "He always gets jealous when we hang out."
(Y/N) swiped his tongue over his lips, not bothering to turn around to glance at the object of Roque's latest attraction, considering he constantly heard all about Diego Sorokov, his dazzling blue eyes, and how good he was in bed.
"Yeah, too bad he doesn't like you enough to be with you." Roque's smile fell, and his adams apple bobbed with a dry swallow. "He's ugly, anyway. He looks like those creatures from that show with dragons."
Roque guffawed. "The white walkers?!" His head tilted back with laughter, one hand slamming on the table and the other shoving his shoulder. "No, he doesn't. He's cute. His eyes-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, blue like the sky, I know. They're penetrable." (Y/N) finished his bottle in another swing and planted his feet firmly on the floor to stand up. "They're big and bright, and he looks like the freaky elf from Harry Potter-" Roque slapped his hand over his mouth to contain his laughter. "Seriously, Roque, what do you even see in him?"
(Y/N) felt two pairs of eyes on him when he left the table and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin. There was, predictably, Diego Sorokov with his frown and his light, piercing eyes.
Amaia's eyes were like diamonds, pretty and sparkling, but cold. Nunu's were blue like the deep ocean and just as calming as rolling waves. Diego's eyes were a boring shade of blue that matched his equally plain, pale face and shitty blond buzzcut.
(Y/N) wouldn't be able to pluck him from a crowd; he was that unremarkable.
Then there was Sebas and his hobby of people watching, though (Y/N) was beginning to suspect the only person Sebas actually watched was him. Roque liked to tease that maybe he made Sebas question his sexuality; Cristian thought Sebas simply idolized him and his reputation.
Sebas turned his head forward the second their eyes met, his lips pursing in the sheepish manner of someone who'd been caught, and his gaze dropped to stare at the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
"(Y/N)! Get over here!"
Tearing his eyes off the rugby player, (Y/N) turned his attention to Cristian, the girls, and the new face standing by them. His eyes roved over the new girl, and she mimicked his actions, a hint defensive and a hint flirtatious.
She was slim, long-legged, and with an air of general indifference to everything around her. She wore casual clothing, with her pants slightly sagging, but nothing that could tell him what her sport was. With those legs of hers, though, he assumed something with running.
"Who's the stray?"
Nunu shot him a look. "This is Zoe. She's a heptathlete. Zoe, this is (Y/N). Don't mind him; he acts like an ass, but he's a big softie at heart."
"Encantada."
Zoe leaned in, pressing both cheeks to his in greeting, her palm notably sliding along his clothed arm and feeling the muscle beneath. Her eyes flickered over his figure once more.
"Let me guess," She sucked her teeth and playfully squinted, pretending to give it some thought. "Mm, my first instinct was basketball, but," She reached down to grab his hand and look over the knuckle bandages. "Either a boxer or someone who likes to fight."
A little puff of air left him in amusement, and he stepped toward Amaia when she tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. He angled his head so she could peck his cheek in greeting, and he flicked the ends of her still-wet hair in her face. She huffed at him and slumped further in Cristian's arms.
"Both, actually."
"Ah, a bad boy, huh?"
"His daddy's rich, so he gets away with everything." Roque teased, his arm slipping around (Y/N)'s middle and chin coming to rest over his shoulder. (Y/N) lifted his other shoulder in an aloof half-shrug. "He could set the dorms on fire, and Isabel would find some reason not to blame him."
Roque pulled him further against his sturdy chest, until they were copying Cristian and Amaia's gooey-dooey couple's embrace.
Zoe hummed, slightly bitter. "Must be nice-"
"Hey, you!"
One of the cyclists called out, her eyes locked firmly on Zoe, who suddenly looked a whole lot more uncomfortable. She folded her arms over her chest and took small, slow steps toward Zoe, her hips swaying and brows lifting in mild offense.
"You're not going to say hi or anything? Vale, I see you're feeling yourself because of that record."
"Jennifer." Zoe smiled, that type of smile someone only got when they awkwardly reunite with an ex. (Y/N) exchanged an amused glance with Amaia and almost snorted at the wide-eyed intrigue on Cristian's face. "What are you doing here?"
"No, my love, the question isn't what I'm doing here." Jennifer shook her head, the ends of her bob brushing along her shoulders, and her eyes hardened once she stopped in front of Zoe. "The question is, what are you doing here?"
They stared at each other for a beat longer before Jennifer brushed past her to join her friends. Immediately, the others pounced, firing off questions about the 'record' and what it meant for Zoe. (Y/N) couldn't say he was surprised; she'd joined toward the middle of the year, which meant she had to have done something worthy of being noticed recently.
Zoe seemed more burdened than proud of whatever record she'd managed to break, her shoulders slightly sagging and her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
(Y/N) felt a hand slap his arm and turned his head, noticing Omar joining the other students hurrying down one of the corridors. "Cris, when are the three musketeers supposed to get here?" He questioned, peeling himself from Roque's chest to grab his duffel bag from the floor and sling it over his shoulder.
Roque spared no time in rushing down the corridor with everyone else on his heels, his broad frame pushing its way through the crowd of students standing on the skybridge, allowing the others to follow as if he were parting the Red Sea for them.
There was excited muttering and eager exchanges amongst those gathered to watch the three distinct cars of the Olympo recruits pull into the parking spots below, bringing with them a chance to be sponsored and reap the rewards.
There was Iker Delallave, Cristian's older brother and retired rugby player, with his shiny, long, shoulder-length brown hair he often tied back into an obnoxious manbun, stepping out of his equally shiny, bright green sports car and waving to those watching with a confident, boyish grin.
Jana Castro, the only woman amongst the three recruits, strode past him and forced his arm down without so much as a glance. (Y/N) had never seen her look remotely happy, only condescending or intrigued.
Then, lastly, Hugo Teixeira, the man who charmed girls with a smile and murmured words in a velvety voice. He wore a fine, expensive suit the color of smoke and took a look at his surroundings before raising his head toward the skybridge. Girls immediately giggled.
(Y/N) tugged his phone free from the pocket of his jacket to check the time. "Now that the three musketeers are here, Gonzalo will be on my ass if I'm late." He gave a heavy sigh, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.
Cristian spared Zoe a glance. "(Y/N) doesn't need the money or the all-expenses-paid trips or pre-bought gear when his dad can just snap his fingers and get it done for him."
He grinned at (Y/N). They both knew fully well it was the same case for him with a brother like Iker, no matter how much the two grinded each other's gears.
"Plus, (Y/N) thinks he's too good for Olympo."
"I'm too good for anyone." (Y/N) corrected, his mouth curling upward into that smug, so-called 'asshole' smirk that Nunu always rolled her eyes at. It allegedly reeked of superiority, but (Y/N) simply was. Zoe arched a brow at him. "I'm a luxury few can afford, sweetheart, but you guys have fun kissing ass and licking boots for the has-beens, yeah? It'll make them feel relevant again."
Roque and Cristian laughed, Nunu shook her head disapprovingly, and Amaia simply flipped him off without looking at him. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jacket, (Y/N) leaned in toward Zoe.
"Good luck on your first day, Zoe. We'll see if you have what it takes, or if you're just another hopeless nobody who had a stroke of luck. I hope it's the former; we have far too many of the latter." Zoe looked a whole lot less amused by him.
"(Y/N)," Nunu called, her voice bordering on lecturing. She raised her brows at him, like his mother would when she caught him doing something she disliked, and he offered a flimsy look of innocence in response. "Leave her alone, and get going before Coach Gonzalo gets mad, okay?"
Cristian raised a hand to point at him. "And stay out of trouble."
The arrival of the Olympo recruits had invigorated everyone and snapped those who'd been falling behind out of their dazes. It was the encouragement many needed, especially with plenty of championships coming up that could make or break their careers if they were chosen.
(Y/N) didn't see the point in fighting for a sponsorship; plenty of HPC athletes became known internationally, and some, like his mother, even made it to the Olympics without Olympo.
But if having to deal with the recruits meant finally having some real practice, (Y/N) was more than willing to put up with them and their patronizing stares.
As the name suggested, the HPC Boxing Gym was the area designated for the boxers of the school to practice, warm up, spar, and when the time came, it served as the location for the federation to come and watch them.
Occasionally, when the main gym grew too packed or too hectic in the evenings after everyone's training wrapped up, some people would wander into the gym to use the weights, dumbbells, or jump ropes.
Sometimes, if they were bored, they'd make use of the punching bags, and (Y/N) would watch in amusement when they inevitably sprained their wrists or bruised their knuckles.
Like most of the school, the gym was primarily made up of tall glass panels and off white-painted concrete walls, providing plenty of natural light and the perfect serenity to get the air suckerpunched out of your lungs in front of your peers.
HPC leaned heavily into modernism, and they were constantly on top of the latest technology that could help better their athletes. It left most of the buildings looking like eyesores amongst the nature around them.
In the center of the gym stood the largest of the boxing rings, the one Gonzalo primarily used to watch performances and decide what needed more work and who needed more one-on-one time.
There were two smaller rings toward the back that others could use to practice with each other or give each other pointers, more commonly used for warm-up spars. Along the walls were rows of varying punching bags, weight machines, a water station, and a first aid station.
(Y/N) dropped his duffel bag off by one of the benches and unzipped his jacket, his attention focused on the center ring where Yaz went against one of the newer girls. It was a test, one that the new girl was unknowingly taking.
(Y/N) worked with Gonzalo long enough to pick up on his habits and predict his decision-making. Newbies were paired up with three types of athletes: the bottom of the class, the class average, and one of the best students. It was Gonzalo's way of seeing how good the newbies were, and if they were even worth HPC.
Out of all the girls, Yaz was the best. She was shorter and skinnier than the other girls, but her figure allowed her to be nimble on her feet. She could dart from one side of the ring to the next, and before her opponent could process where she was, her glove was already connecting with their face.
She was an adapter, never really holding down one particular fighting style, always adjusting to her opponent's moves. Plus, she packed a serious punch.
"The Olympo recruiters are here, Gonz," (Y/N) mentioned as he tugged the hand wraps free from his bag, his eyes flickering between his coach and Yaz as she began to quicken her punches until they were overwhelming. Her opponent blocked most of the punches, but she kept staggering backward until she tripped over her own feet. "I'm sure they'll be coming around soon enough."
"I can't wait," Gonzalo murmured sarcastically, and he raised his hand to put an end to the new girl's beatdown. "What do we think about the sponsorships? They've got everyone riled up this morning." His fingers rubbed against the graying stubble along his sharp jawline, his mouth drawn into a line, almost bored but thoughtful.
"Iker's probably going to pick a rugby player so he can have a new mini-me. Jana or Hugo might go for Amaia. She's the best synchronized swimmer, and she's worked hard enough for everyone to be mentioning her. That'll leave one sponsorship... and I don't really give a shit about that."
(Y/N) flashed a grin, and Gonzalo sighed.
"Adrian might get the last one. He's good, quick, been here long enough to deserve it."
Gonzalo pursed his lips. "Mm."
Gonzalo Valderas was probably one of the best coaches the school had to offer, in (Y/N)'s less-than-humble opinion. A two-time Olympic bronze medalist, he had a steady career for most of his twenties and early thirties, until a rough shoulder dislocation prompted him to retire, for his physical health and the sake of his family.
He began coaching afterward, and then after half a decade of producing champions, he was offered a job at the best center in the country. (Y/N) wanted to be him one day. He'd just be a gold medalist instead of bronze.
"Get those wraps and gloves on, (Y/N)," Gonzalo said, his attention falling away from the girls climbing out of the ring and onto the three familiar figures walking into the gym. "I want you and Adrian in the ring. Show them what you've got."
(Y/N) and Adrian entering the ring was always something of a spectacle, but not in a 'watch-and-learn' type of way. It was more like gathering around to watch a hound go after a fox.
The hound was strong and fast, all snapping jaws and primal violence, but the fox was sly and swifter, weaving and dodging until the hound grew tired. It was always anyone's bet as to who would win, or if they'd tire each other out enough to call it a day.
People liked to say fighting Adrian was fighting to win, but fighting (Y/N) was fighting to survive.
The recruits remained toward the entrance of the gym, their backs against the wall and their hands in their pockets, exuding an air of indifference and casualness.
It was meant to agitate, to push them into doing something impressive or trying harder to get a reaction. Adrian glanced at them, his turquoise blue mouth guard briefly flashing when he adjusted it with his bottom teeth.
"Try not to kill each other."
Instinctively, (Y/N) got into position: feet apart, body at an angle, knees loose but not bent, one glove up to his jaw and the other a few inches from his face.
He'd sparred with Adrian enough times to know where to strike, when to defend, what punches he usually threw, but they got stronger every day, and sometimes people liked to switch things up. (Y/N) took in a deep breath and held it until Gonzalo blew on his whistle.
Adrian went on the defensive, hoisting up his arms to block the jabs to his face, but he was too slow to step back when (Y/N) did a slip and throw, shifting his weight to one side and hitting him right in his lower body.
Adrian grunted and staggered back slightly, though he wasted no time in returning the favor with a quick hook to (Y/N)'s jaw. (Y/N) took it, the pumping adrenaline overriding and dulling any pain he would've normally felt.
(Y/N) loved boxing for many reasons, but primarily because it allowed him to blow off steam and hit someone without risking trouble, and he could let his mind rely on instinct. Each punch he threw, he put more force into it, more strength, more weight, until he was hitting like he wanted to do real, long-lasting damage.
It was fun. It was better than a high.
Any chatter in the room ceased, leaving only the barely audible muttering of the recruiters when they exchanged opinions or comments. The silence was otherwise filled with grunts, heaves, the sound of the gloves hitting skin, and their footsteps when they stepped back or forward.
Gonzalo watched them with that same, unreadable expression of his, but his eyes flickered to the recruiters every so often. Sponsorships weren't just for the athletes; they were a compliment to the coaches for a job well done.
If Gonzalo wanted to impress, (Y/N) would happily oblige him. Adrian was good, but mornings were his weakness. Not a morning went by that he wasn't tired from a night spent with his girlfriend or multiple bottles of beer, sometimes both.
He was a little sluggish, a sluggishness that would've been gone by early afternoon, and one (Y/N) took advantage of.
He ramped up the speed of his hits until Adrian was stepping back more than usual, his elbows rising and dropping in a desperate attempt to block whilst he waited for an opening. When he stumbled, losing his footing for just a fleeting second, (Y/N) went in with a bolo punch right in his midsection.
Adrian let out a strangled grunt, nearly choking on his breath, and fell right on his ass with a cringe. He spat out his mouth guard and slumped onto his back with a tired, annoyed little pout. Adrian had always been a good sport, more focused on his shortcomings than being bitter.
(Y/N) let out a breathless laugh and immediately felt a familiar, subtle throb in his side. Bruises lasted longer with him; he never let them heal properly without first making them worse. He ignored the sting of pain and approached the ropes, ducking beneath one and hopping off the ring.
He sent Gonzalo a wink, something the coach rolled his eyes at, and began peeling his gloves from his hands when he noticed the figure clad fully in white approaching.
Jana smiled at him, a tight-lipped, corners of her mouth barely up smile that didn't quite meet her rather blank eyes. "(Y/N)," She said, a sigh at the end of his name, like it was tiresome just to say it. "How's your mother, hm? I haven't seen her in what feels like forever."
"You mean since my father chose her over you?" (Y/N) cocked his head to the side, another laugh tumbling free from his mouth. Jana forced a chuckle and then sucked on her teeth. "It's funny, isn't it, Jana? She got my father, you got... whoever. She got silver, you got bronze. She's always happy, and you're always... you."
Jana's smile became ever more tight. "You are... so different from your parents, (Y/N). It's a good thing you're here, boxing. It's a shame you'll likely end up in prison in the coming years, cariño." Jana placed her hand over his sweaty forearm and immediately removed it with a crinkled nose. "Say hi to your mother for me."
(Y/N) waited until she turned around to say, "Will do. I'm sure she'll have a good laugh about it, Jana."
Jana whipped her head around to shoot him a glare, her nose all scrunched up and mouth in a downward line. She looked forward again, adjusting the coat of her suit, and left her heels to click-click-click away until she left the gym with Iker and Hugo to judge and consider another sport.
All bark, no bite, his mother used to say about Jana; her friends had to do all the biting for her.
"Do you have to make an enemy out of everyone you meet?" Adrian asked, a little teasing, a little genuine, as he stuck his legs beneath the bottom rope and swung his legs a little.
Bruises were beginning to form, ones that would be soothed away by the ice pack Yaz got for him. He pressed it to his midsection and winced when he breathed in.
"I mean, come on, tío. You're like the neighborhood dog that keeps barking and scaring the kids."
"And nobody ever dares to come near the house." (Y/N) ghosted his finger over the sore skin above his hip. "Only those bold enough to enter are worth it."
"Inspirational. You should write poems."
(Y/N) couldn't help but chuckle, a little droplet of sweat rolling down his temple. "Fuck off." He said over his shoulder, his ears picking up the faint buzz of his phone persistently going off in his jacket. He dug through one pocket before searching the other and tapping the screen to look at the messages.
Cris Pick up ur phone
Cris Come to the field
Cris Please
(Y/N) swiped his tongue over his lips and peered over his shoulder in search of Gonzalo. He found the coach correcting the stance of the new girl who'd been beaten by Yaz, demonstrating a stance better suited for her fighting style and size.
Usually, he'd ignore his phone throughout training, unless he was bored out of his mind, but Cristian never bothered him unless he deemed it important. (Y/N) dug his teeth into the inside of his cheek.
Cris had been bold enough to enter the house, despite the warning signs and barking dog. He deserved a little compassion.
Somewhat reluctantly, (Y/N) stuck his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, leaving it unzipped for the sake of his heated body. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and approached the glass double doors, his head tilting back to spy Gonzalo from the corner of his eye.
"I'm going to the bathroom!" He called, waiting for Gonzalo to flick his wrist in acknowledgment before he slipped out of the gym.
There were a couple of sports fields on the property: one for rugby, one for track-related sports, one for fútbol, and a ballpark for baseball.
(Y/N) knew the shortest route to take to get to the pitch; it'd been a route Roque and Cristian dragged him down when they wanted him to see them in their full glory. Full glory meant seeing Roque prove why he was captain, and wondering how Cristian managed to get into the school.
The rugby players were still on the field, playing and practicing, which meant it wasn't an injury emergency; otherwise, they would've looked a whole lot more tense.
Roque joined him on the climb up to the stands, his mouth tugged into a grim line. Further down the stands was a lonesome-looking Cristian with his knees close to his chest and his features scrunched up.
"What's he crying about now?"
Roque grimaced. "Javier is kicking him off the team, (Y/N). He's going to have to leave HPC."
In a sight all too familiar and common, Cristian sat on the stands with quivering lips and teary eyes, his brows together in a way that made him look more boy than man. (Y/N) stared at him, unable to do anything but slowly sit down beside him and bring a hand to his back in slow, robotic circles.
Comforting other people had never been his strong suit. Cristian and Nunu were experts at it with their soothing voices and sweet words.
Cristian sniffled, roughly rubbing at his cheeks until his skin turned a reddish pink. His head turned on a swivel as he looked between the two, obviously wishing for a distraction rather than a discussion on his failures.
"How was practice? I love this open jacket, everything on display look you've got going on, (Y/N). Did you go see Diego, Roque? Are you mad at him?" Cristian spouted question after question, and then tenderly brought his fingers to (Y/N)'s jaw to inspect the spotting there from Adrian's hit.
"Well..." Roque cleared his throat. "A little. We took a picture, and I wanted to post it, but he didn't, and... yeah, that's it. I think, uh, (Y/N)'s right about him. He doesn't like me enough to be with me. I mean, the only time I want to show off our relationship and-"
"Isn't that asshole always posting random shit?" Cristian sniffled again, more softly, and the tears in his eyes began to dry up. "In that case, no more dick for him, right?" (Y/N) snorted, and Roque's shoulders shook with a soft chuckle. "I'm just saying! It's my humble opinion."
(Y/N) leaned forward to rest his arms along the top of his knees and looked around Cristian to peer at Roque. "And the picture? What, was it you two in bed or something?"
"I mean," Roque dug into the pocket of his shorts to take out his phone. "Sort of. We, uh, hooked up in the storage room."
Roque typed in his passcode and turned the phone around to show them the screen. The picture was of him and Diego sitting on the floor of the storage room, covered in what looked like protein powder that had fallen over on them.
The picture would've looked fine, platonic even, had it not been for their bare, sweaty chests and flushed faces. (Y/N)'s eyes dropped to the post button on the corner of the screen that looked the slightest bit tempting to press.
"You guys look good together.. but doesn't it piss you off?" Cristian asked, his hand wrapping around Roque's wrist to keep it still while he studied the photo. "Hooking up with someone and having to make sure nobody finds out? Dude, I'd be going nuts."
"Hooking up in secret is fine."
(Y/N) shrugged and turned his attention back out onto the field, his gaze surveying over the players doing different drills like tackling and working on their speed.
"But a secret relationship? Why the hell would I be with someone who obviously doesn't want me enough to be proud of us? That's bullshit. It's not love."
"A ver, I can understand it, somewhat. For some people, the cost is a little greater, and some sports are a little behind in the times." Roque turned to look at them, his eyes jumping between them in a sort of assuring way. "I've never had problems here at HPC."
(Y/N) made a face. "Tío, that's because they'll never say it to your face. You're the captain of the rugby team."
"I can tell you you'll never see that guy-"
Cristian pointed a finger at Sebas, who was down on the field repeatedly practicing his tackles with Coach Javier. He'd jog backward, get into position, then sprint forward to tackle the crimson red contact pad with a little more force each time.
"-at a pride parade."
"You think?" Roque's mouth curled into a knowing smirk, and he leaned sideways to bump shoulders with Cristian, his eyes crinkling with delight as if he were about to spill a little secret. "You should know, I see things your straight-guy eyes can't... and I've seen Sebas stare at (YN) like he's in a desert and (Y/N)'s an oasis plenty of times."
Cristian's head whipped around to stare at (Y/N), wide-eyed at the revelation, but (Y/N) only hummed, vaguely disinterested.
"Well, who doesn't? The girls, the guys, the teachers, they all look at me like that." Cristian groaned, his eyes rolling but lips tugging into an amused smile. "Además, Sebas is the type of guy who'll marry whichever stupid girl his daddy picks for him and pretend he enjoys his loveless marriage until he grows old and bitter."
"Oh, come on, Sebas is.. nice."
(Y/N) arched an unimpressed brow at Roque's words, because anyone willing to seek out Charlie Lago's company couldn't be a nice person, let alone a smart one. He felt Cristian bump his knee against his, and found his eyes locked on Roque's phone when he glanced at him.
"You should talk to him, see what's up with him. Who knows, maybe-"
Before Roque could finish his sentence, Cristian snatched his phone right from his hand and shot up from his seat. (Y/N) tucked his legs in long enough for Cristian to bolt down the stands before extending them to block Roque's path, forcing him to stumble to avoid tripping over them.
"No, no, no, guys!" Roque leaped over (Y/N)'s legs and gave chase, desperately calling out to Cristian.
(Y/N) stood up with a small laugh and walked after them, watching the struggle when Roque attempted to grab his phone and Cristian held him back with a hand to his chest until Cristian posted the picture with a large, satisfied grin.
Diego was going to freak. Guys like Roque's little white walker always did. They liked to slap their chests and pretend to be big dogs, but tucked their tails between their legs when confronted with reality.
"Thanks," Roque grumbled, his thumb hovering over the delete button, but instead of deleting the post, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and plopped down beside Cristian again, sitting down on one of the large concrete steps and patting the space between his open legs for (Y/N).
Once (Y/N) sat down, Roque curled his arms around him and sighed. "When are you leaving?" He asked gently, studying the side of Cristian's face with the hint of a frown.
Within seconds, Cristian's eyes threatened to flood with tears again. "Tomorrow." He answered, voice bordering on a whimper. "I tried to tell Amaia, but... she was nervous, you know."
(Y/N) barked out a laugh. "Nervous?"
To say that Amaia and (Y/N) were two peas in a pod was an understatement. Amia understood him better than anyone else ever had before.
They operated on the same level: when they became overwhelmed and their brains refused to shut off, they turned toward distractions to help them ignore their problems.
Their idea of the perfect distraction? Hooking up with the closest person they could find. Cristian's little grin merely confirmed it.
Wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye, Cristian sniffled, the grin slowly falling away. "Once she finishes training, I'll tell her. I can't take it anymore."
Cristian swallowed, his adams apple bobbing, and he took in a trembling breath, his palms rubbing back and forth over his thighs before he leaned down to rest his head over (Y/N)'s thighs.
(Y/N) draped an arm around him, massaging his fingers into the side of Cristian's hip and feeling the blonde slowly melt against him. Roque unlaced his hands to toy with Cristian's strands, his head lowering to bump gently against (Y/N)'s.
"We're going to miss you, man."
