The midday sun beat down on the field as the first test match kicked off.

Lucia sat on the sidelines, arms crossed, watching the game unfold. She had expected Pablo to play well - he usually did. But today? Today, he was a disaster.

His first few touches were sloppy, his passes off-target. He lost possession more times than she could count, and every time the ball came near him, he seemed a second too slow, a step behind.

Fermín, who was sitting beside her, noticed too. “The hell is wrong with him today?” he muttered.

Lucia shrugged, not taking her eyes off Pablo. “Maybe he’s still half-asleep.”

The game went on, and despite Pablo’s struggles, the team managed to hold their own. The match ended in a 2–2 draw, with both goals for their side coming from set pieces - one from a header, the other from a rebound. Pablo hadn’t been involved in either.

As the final whistle blew, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair before kicking at the grass. He looked pissed.

Lucia, still watching from the sidelines, smirked slightly. Poor thing.

She stood up, stretching lazily. “Well, that was entertaining,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Pablo stormed off the field without a glance in her direction.

After the game, the team headed back to the hotel. The atmosphere was a mix of exhaustion and mild disappointment. A draw wasn’t terrible, but the performance had been far from convincing.

--------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Lucia walked down the hallway toward the elevator, her steps unhurried. She had no particular reason to rush, but the tension in the air after the match lingered, thick and palpable. As she neared the elevator, she heard footsteps behind her - familiar ones. She didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was.

Pablo Torre.

He was clearly still fuming from the game. His jaw was set, his brow furrowed, and he didn’t spare her even a glance as he stopped beside her to wait for the elevator.

She leaned against the wall, crossing her arms as she glanced his way. “Quiet tonight, huh?”

He didn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the elevator doors.

She smirked, undeterred. “What’s wrong, Torre? Cat got your tongue? Or is it just the weight of an awful performance dragging you down?”

His head snapped toward her, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t start, Lucia.”

“Start what?” she asked innocently, tilting her head. “I’m just making conversation. You looked a little lost out there tonight. Thought maybe you needed a friendly ear.”

“Friendly?” he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s rich coming from you.”

The elevator arrived with a soft ding, and they stepped inside. The doors slid shut, trapping them in the confined space.

Lucia leaned back against the wall, her eyes flicking toward him with mock curiosity. “I mean, I get it. Everyone has bad days. It’s just... yours seemed especially bad. You couldn’t hold onto the ball to save your life.”

Pablo’s fists clenched at his sides, his frustration mounting with every word. “Lucia, I swear-”

“What? You’ll yell at me? Go ahead. You didn’t have the energy to yell at anyone on the pitch, so maybe now’s your chance.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer to her. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Not when I’m right,” she shot back, her smirk widening. “It’s almost impressive how you managed to be invisible for ninety minutes. Really, you should-”

Before she could finish, he moved, pinning her against the elevator wall. His hands braced on either side of her, his chest heaving as he stared down at her with unbridled annoyance.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he muttered, his voice low and taut with anger.

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk faltering slightly. “What’s the matter, Torre? Can’t take a little criticism?”

“You don’t know when to shut up,” he growled, his face mere inches from hers.

“And you don’t know how to play a good game,” she quipped, though her voice was softer now, her breath hitching slightly.

The tension between them snapped. Pablo’s lips crashed onto hers, a collision of anger and something deeper, more primal. For a moment, she froze, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. But then her hands found their way to his shirt, gripping it tightly as she kissed him back with just as much fervor.

It wasn't soft or sweet. It was messy, filled with frustration and pent-up emotions neither of them wanted to admit existed. His teeth grazed her lower lip, eliciting a quiet gasp that only seemed to spur him

on. One of his hands left the wall, sliding down to her waist and pulling her even closer.

Her back pressed harder against the elevator wall as she rose on her tiptoes to meet him more fully, her fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair. He groaned softly against her mouth, the sound sending a spark of heat through her. She could feel the tautness of his muscles under her palms, and though she'd never admit it, she liked the way his body felt against hers.

When the elevator dinged softly, signaling that they'd reached another floor, neither of them moved. Instead, Pablo reached out without looking and hit the button to close the doors again, his lips. never leaving hers.

"You're such a pain," he muttered against her mouth, his voice husky.

"And you're insufferable," she whispered back, biting back a smirk as her hands slid down to his chest, her nails lightly grazing the fabric of his shirt.

He growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to look at her, his breath coming in short bursts. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"Maybe not," she said, her voice breathless, "but I know you're still upset about your game."

"Still talking," he murmured, leaning in again, his lips trailing along her jawline and down her neck, drawing a sharp inhale from her.

Her grip tightened on his shirt, and she tilted her head slightly, giving him more access despite herself. "You're trying too hard," she managed to say, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

He pulled back, his lips curving into a small, self-satisfied smirk. "Says the one who can't seem to push me away."

Her eyes narrowed, but before she could fire back, the elevator dinged again. This time, they broke apart, their chests heaving as they stared at each other, the intensity between them refusing to dissipate.

Without a word, Pablo grabbed her hand, his grip firm but not rough, and led her down the hallway. Her room wasn't far, and as they stumbled inside, the door clicking shut behind them, she couldn't resist one last quip.

"Still think I'm infuriating?"

He smirked, backing her against the door this time, his hands settling on her hips. "More than ever."

"Good," she whispered, pulling him down to her again.