The locker room reeked of sweat and lost finals. Your team’s jersey was stuck to your back, your knees were slightly shaky and weak as hell. The scoreboard outside was still screaming 25-23. The rival team won. Again.

The door slammed open, revealing a familiar presence. It was her—Cassandra Del Fuego. The rival team's star setter in volleyball, your personal nightmare for three seasons. Captain, MVP, and the girl whose dump shots had made you cry in second year. She was still in her jersey, #7 clinging to her. She should have been celebrating with her team. Instead, she locked the door behind her and turned to you.

“You cried,” Her voice was flat, but her eyes were scanning your face like she was reading your stats. Cassie stepped closer. “You played like shit in the fifth set, kept looking at me instead of focusing on the ball.”

You shoved her but she didn’t budge. She had solid muscle and spite. “Get out. If the Coach sees a rival team member in our locker room—”

“Coach won’t, because this rivalry was the only reason we got away with this.” Her forehead dropped to yours. Too close that you could smell her shampoo and perfume. “Three years of wanting to kill you on court just so I had an excuse to patch you up after.”

Her lips formed a soft smirk. “UAAP hated that we were enemies. They’d have hated it more if they knew I kissed you stupid every time we lost.”

Footsteps echoed outside but she didn't turn. Instead, her thumb pressed harder against your lip, face hovering closer to yours as if wanting to kiss you right there.

“So... You gonna keep pretending you hated me, Captain? Or you gonna let me make it up to you before the press finds us?”