The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the bed. Lucia stirred first, groaning slightly as she shifted beneath the sheets. Her body ached - not unpleasantly - but enough to remind her exactly what had happened the night before.

She blinked a few times, willing herself to wake up fully, and then froze when she felt the warmth beside her.

Pablo.

He was still asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow. His bare back rose and fell with steady breaths, his hair a tousled mess. He looked peaceful. Almost innocent.

She hated that she noticed that.

With a quiet sigh, she carefully sat up, the sheet slipping down to pool around her waist. Her shirt was nowhere in sight, her hair was a disaster, and her mind was already racing with everything she didn't want to think about.

What the hell was she doing?

Before she could dwell on it too much, Pablo stirred beside her. He let out a low, sleepy groan, stretching lazily before his eyes blinked open. It took him a second to register where he was, but when he did, his gaze immediately found hers.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, he smirked. That infuriating, smug smirk that made her want to punch him.

"We can't keep doing this," she said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but there was a hint of frustration laced in her words. She avoided looking at him, instead busying herself with smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheet.

Pablo let out a low chuckle, the kind that made her want to slap him and wipe that smug expression off his face. "Why not? You clearly enjoy it."

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're in denial," he shot back, his tone light but with an edge of arrogance. "Look, you can pretend all you want, but we both know what happens every time we're alone together."

Lucia groaned, running a hand through her hair. "This isn't healthy, Pablo. We can't stand each other. I don't even like you."

"Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual," he said with a shrug, as if it didn't bother him in the slightest. "But that doesn't stop you from pulling me into bed every chance you get."

"Excuse me?" she snapped, turning to glare at him. "You're the one who can't keep your hands to yourself."

He smirked, leaning back against the headboard. "Doesn't seem like you're complaining when it's happening."

She threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, still grinning like an idiot. "God, you're impossible."

"And yet, here we are," he said, gesturing between them.

Lucia huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is a mistake. It's reckless, it's stupid, and-"

"-it works," he interrupted, cutting her off. "Look, I'm not asking for a relationship. Hell, I'd rather gouge my eyes out than date you."

"Charming," she muttered sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"I'm just saying," he continued, ignoring her comment, "we're good at this. Whatever this is. Why not just... keep it simple?"

"Simple?" she repeated, her voice dripping with skepticism.

"Yeah," he said, sitting up and leaning toward her. "We both have... needs. Clearly, we're good at satisfying them for each other. So why not make it official?"

She raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed. "Official? You're proposing we keep sleeping together but... what? Still hate each other?"

"Exactly," he said with a grin, as if it were the most logical solution in the world. "No strings, no feelings, just... whatever this is."

Lucia stared at him, her expression unreadable. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was insane, but a small part of her couldn't deny the logic in his words. It wasn't like she trusted anyone else to get this close, and at least with Pablo, there were no pretenses, no expectations.

"You're seriously suggesting a... friends with benefits thing?" she asked finally, her tone skeptical.

"Not friends," he corrected quickly, his smirk returning. "We'd kill each other if we were friends."

She couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her lips, though she quickly covered it with a cough. "At least you're self-aware."

"Look," he said, leaning back again and spreading his arms lazily. "You don't like me, I don't like you. But we're good at this. So why fight it?"

Lucia hesitated, biting her lip as she considered his words. "This is insane," she said finally.

"Maybe," he admitted, his eyes meeting hers. "But you're still thinking about it."

She sighed, hating how he always managed to get under her skin. "Fine," she said reluctantly. "But there are rules."

"Of course there are," he said, his tone amused. "You're predictable like that."

She glared at him. "First rule: This stays between us. No one can know."

"Obviously," he said, nodding. "Last thing I need is the team finding out about this."

"And second rule," she continued, ignoring his comment, "this ends the second one of us decides it's not working."

"Deal," he said without hesitation.

She studied him for a moment, still not entirely sure if this was the worst decision she'd ever made or just another terrible one to add to the list. "You're going to regret this," she muttered.

"Doubt it," he said, that cocky grin spreading across his face again.

Lucia rolled her eyes, grabbing her shirt from the floor and pulling it over her head. "You're insufferable."

"And you're still here," he shot back, his tone light but teasing.

As she walked toward the door, she turned back to look at him one last time. "This doesn't mean I like you."

"Good," he said with a smirk. "Because I don't like you either."

She left to the bathroom without another word, shutting the door behind her with a bit more force than necessary.

But as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd probably be back.

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

The locker room was buzzing with the usual post-training chatter - complaints about the drills, discussions about the upcoming match, and jokes thrown around between teammates. Pablo had just pulled off his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face when he heard it.

“Damn, Torre.”

The comment came from one of the guys across the room. Pablo barely had time to process it before another voice chimed in.

“Holy shit, what the hell happened to your back?”

Pablo frowned, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. That’s when he saw them in the mirror - red scratch marks trailing down his skin. Not exactly subtle.

A chorus of amused whistles and knowing laughs followed.

“Looks like someone had a fun night,” one of them teased.

“Damn, bro. You could at least try to hide it,” another added.

Pablo rolled his eyes, tossing his shirt into his locker. “You guys are acting like you’ve never seen this before.”

“Not like that,” someone muttered, prompting another round of laughter.

Fermín, who had been tying his shoelaces nearby, leaned back against his locker, arms crossed. He’d noticed Pablo’s absence last night. And now, this.

“You’re awfully quiet about it,” Fermín commented, raising an eyebrow. “Not even denying anything.”

Pablo smirked, grabbing his towel. “Why should I?”

That only made the guys more intrigued.

“So, who’s the mystery girl?” one of them pressed.

“Yeah, come on, at least give us something.”

Pablo shook his head, unfazed. “Not happening.”

Fermín studied him for a moment before scoffing. “You disappear all night, come back acting weird, and now this.” He gestured vaguely at Pablo’s back. “And you expect me not to put two and two together?”

Pablo just grinned, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past. “I expect you to mind your own business.”

The guys groaned in disappointment, realizing they weren’t getting any details.

“Man, you suck,” one of them muttered.

Pablo only chuckled, heading toward the showers without another word. If they thought he was going to spill anything, they clearly didn’t know him well enough.