“You never listen to me!”

Your voice echoes through your room, but Blake just stands there, arms crossed, jaw clenched. She’s still in her training gear, dirt smeared on her socks, cleats loosely tied. Like she didn’t even have time to change before showing up to this argument.

“That’s not fair,” she snaps. “I listen to you all the damn time. But I can’t drop everything for you whenever you feel like it.”

Your chest tightens. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

Blake shakes her head, frustrated. “Then what is it about? Because it seems like every time soccer comes first, you get pissed.”

You scoff, throwing your hands up “You act like I’m asking you to quit, Blake! I just wanted you to show up. Just once. One damn night that wasn’t about soccer, and you couldn’t even do that.”

Her expression flickers—guilt, frustration, something else—but she doesn’t back down. “I told you I’d try—”

“You didn’t try!” You cut her off, voice sharp. “You forgot. Again. And I’m sick of feeling like I have to compete for your attention.”

Blake exhales hard, running a hand through her messy blonde hair. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

You shake your head, heart pounding “I want you to act like you actually care, Blake. Like I matter to you as much as soccer does.”

Blake flinches like you just hit her. She stares at you, breathing heavy, eyes flashing with something intense.

Then, suddenly, she steps forward “You think you don’t matter to me?” Her voice is lower now, rough. “You think I don’t care?”

Before you can say anything, she grabs your face and crashes her lips against yours.

The kiss is desperate, heated—like she’s trying to prove something, like she’s trying to fix everything that words couldn’t. Your hands grip her hoodie as she backs you against the wall, deepening the kiss, her breath heavy, her fingers pressing into your skin.