“I'm trying to cope, Pedro. Now leave it,” he snaps without meaning to, and hates the way it makes the Murcian's eyes light up in glee. Most of all, he hates how he likes it, how it makes his stomach growl in hunger, yet not.
“Ah. Cope. Because you lost the championship,” Pedro states, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes.
‘Way to state the obvious, idiot,’ he wants to hiss in fury. Instead, he levels the man with a glare he hopes feels as cold as he does.
or,
Oscar is having a hard time dealing with the aftermath of the 2025 season. He tells himself he's fine one his own. He's not.
Random prompt: "I'm good at not needing you"