Sofia - goodnight

The fundraiser's going great—the movie's a hit, the snack bars have lines, and we're well over our expected number of guests. Thanks to Jordan's connections, we were able to get a big screen, and thanks to Sarah's connections, we have somewhat of a clean-up crew. With this turnout, I'm sure we'll be able to afford an away tournament. It may not be Spain, but it won't be here, and that's good enough for me.

"Good work, kid." I'm caught off guard when Coach Smitty approaches with a bag of popcorn in hand.

"Thanks, Coach." I keep it short and simple, as she likes it.

"You're a good one, Delezar." Her smile is faint—probably the biggest I've ever seen. Her deep blue eyes narrow behind me before she walks off, and her reaction tells me all I need to know.

"Still following me?" I ask, exasperation clear in my voice as I turn to look at Stephan.

"Like you said, Delezar, you don't like quitting, nor do I."

"Think of it as an opportunity to go do something else."

"Why would I do that when you're right here?" His voice is low, and his eyes slowly trail down my face.

"Fine, you want to be here? Go make yourself useful and hand out cookies." I point to the stand with Max.

"As you wish, sweetheart." Stephan obliges, heading over, but not before shooting me a short-lived, phoney smile.

I watch as he interacts with the guests, their laughter loud as he shoots his dimpled smile while giving out the cookies as if each individual person matters. I roll my eyes, though it's not shocking; Stephen Westerman knows how to put on a show in more ways than one.

He's effortlessly charming, his charisma draws people in and makes them feel special. This knack for winning over crowds isn't limited to just this event—Stephen's reputation for being a smooth talker and people person precedes him. He knows how to play his part to win.

"What are you looking at?" Jordan's voice pulls me back to reality, and I turn to see smugness written all over her face.

"Just checking if things are running smoothly," I counter her suggestive tone with a serious one.

"Oh, apologies. I could've sworn you were—" her voice trails off, "pshhh, I don't know, checking something... or someone out." She smiles knowingly.

"I'm checking to make sure Westerman doesn't ruin this event." I look over my shoulder to see the line uncoincidentally longer, as if his ego needs to be further inflated.

"Of course. I bet he was such a disaster when you were alone in the storage shed."

I snap my head back to Jordan. "What?"

"Sof, big man on campus walks into a soccer event, a sport he doesn't play nor have connections to, and you think his every move isn't being watched? I'm pretty sure they're making another video with him in it." She nudges in his direction, and lo and behold, there he is, being filmed handing out cookies.

"We're just..." I can't even find the words. I hate lying, especially to my best friend, so I don't. I let the silence answer for me, and she offers a sly smile.

"Extremely unexpected, and this conversation? to be continued." She shoots me an accusatory look. "Oh, and I saved us a spot on the pink blanket. Sit. I'll join with popcorn in five." She pushes me toward the laid-out blanket and two small beanbag chairs.

+++

I've been sitting here far too long for my liking, and Jordan's nowhere in sight. I've tried to leave my stationed area, but I have no excuse; everything is fine.

"Stop stressing." I peer my eyes away from one of the game booths and look at Stephan, now heading in this direction.

"I'm not, and I'm actually waiting for Jordan." I eye him as he sits down on the beanbag beside me, a bag of popcorn in hand.

"The same Jordan who sent me over here?" His face is smug, and I glance over his shoulder to see Jordan giving a knowing smirk. I roll my eyes in response and stare back at Stephan.

"No, a different Jordan."

"This is my favorite part," he states, and the sight is almost cute. He stares at the screen, munching his popcorn like a child, completely immersed in the rom-com. Like I said, nearly cute.

"You've seen this?" I ask, and his face turns almost offended.

"Of course, Delezar. I've got a soft spot for rom-coms," he replies, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth with a grin.

"That line work on all the girls?" I retort.

"Still testing the waters." he shoots back.

I shake my head with a small laugh. "Well, it's late, and they clearly have it under control, so I'm going to head out," I state, getting up, Stephan shifting in response.

"I'll walk you," he says, looking up at me.

"No, its okay; finish the movie. My dorm's on campus." I offer a short smile, but he gets up.

"It's late; I'm walking you."

+++

The walk to my dorm is fairly quiet, minus the distant noise at the soccer field and the occasional rustling of leaves on the deserted campus. The silence between us feels heavy—not awkward but tense.

"It's not too late to turn around." I finally break the silence, glancing at him. "I can handle walking a few minutes alone." His hands are tucked into his grey sweats, and his black T contrasts with the thin gold chain around his neck.

"I know," he replies evenly. "But I'd rather make sure you get home safe." There's a moment of silence between us.

"Almost sounds like you care," I tease. "One might say I'm winning the bet." I look at him, and his familiar smirk stretches across his lips.

"I do care—for my reputation. How bad would it look if you got stolen in the night?" His comment elicits genuine laughter from both of us, breaking the tension.

The path becomes lighter as we walk towards the illuminated building.  We walk inside until we're both standing in front of my door.

"This is me." I turn to face him, and he stands patiently as I open my dorm door. I offer a short smile before stepping inside. The darkness telling me my roommate isn't here. I quickly flick on the light and then turn to Stephan, who's standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets. He momentarily looks down, and I notice a pretty hefty cut on the back of his neck.

"You're cut," I state. He brings his hand to the back of his neck in confusion, then looks at his hand now streaked with blood.

I sigh and step out of the way, holding the door open. "Come on, I have bandages."

"It's fine, it's a small cut."

"It looks more like a large slash, and you don't get to play hero. Consider it repayment."

"Everything's a competition with you."

"What else would it be?" I reply as he walks in, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

I immediately head for the washroom, rummaging through the cupboards.

"Your family live in this area?" Stephan's voice drifts in, and I peek my head out momentarily to see him lifting an old family photo from around twelve years ago.

"They're not here," I reply, heading back inside the washroom. It's a black hole of clutter dressed with white walls and beach-themed décor; it's always a battle to find anything with Ashlyn's stuff scattered everywhere.

"Where are they?" he asks from the other room.

"Canada. My brother goes to Michigan State, though," I mumble.

"You're Canadian?" He pauses.

"Come in," I holler out, finally finding the kit.

"I thought Canadians were supposed to be nice," he says, walking in and leaning against the door.

"This is me being nice," I counter.

"Yes, your deadpan expression is healing me already," he replies, his voice heavy with sarcasm. I roll my eyes and open the first aid kit on the counter. He joins beside me, leaning back on it to shorten his height.

"How did this happen?" I ask, gently cleaning the wound with antiseptic.

"Name any hit I took at practice," he faintly laughs.

"Yeah, it was pretty rough." I admit, I recall the hits he was taking, some harder than others, and some that one could say looked personal.

"Glad someone enjoyed it," he smiles, but I can see the flash of sincerity.

"I didn't enjoy it," I say, my voice rising slightly. He gives me a knowing look.

"That much," I admit, earning a smile. "I'm glad you're okay."

He turns to face me, his expression curious. "One might say you care." He throws my words back at me, holding eye contact.

"You're no good to me dead, Westerman," I reply. He smiles and turns back sideways so I can continue. I carefully place the bandage on his neck, my fingers brushing against his skin. "All better."

He turns to face me, and in this moment, with his close proximity and the way his brown eyes, flecked with green, look at me, I suddenly regret being alone in a bathroom with Stephan Westerman. We lock eyes, the intensity of his gaze piercing into me. The room is quiet, leaving only the sound of our breathing. My heart pounds as he leans in closer, the warmth of his body brushing against mine.

"So, are we even?" His voice is low, his gaze flickering down to my lips.

"Tied," I respond firmly, refusing to let his proximity shake my resolve. I hold his gaze steady. His eyes narrow slightly in acknowledgment.

Point Delezar

"Goodnight, Delezar." He backs down and leaves, the door clicks shut and echos through the room.

"Why the hell did Stephan Westerman just come out of our dorm?" Im immediately greeted with Ashlyn's loud voice as she storms into the washroom.

Great.