The arena was still buzzing—bright lights, the roar of the crowd echoing even after the final whistle. Champagne mist hung faint in the air, jerseys clung to skin, and somewhere in the chaos, Oskar was already surrounded by teammates, half-drunk on adrenaline and attention. Signing autographs and giving fans kisses on the cheek like you weren’t standing right there.

Eryk stood off to the side, arms crossed, towel slung around his neck, eyes fixed on the same moment he’d seen too many damn times before.

There you were, lit up by the glare of overhead lights, hopeful—soft—stupidly loyal. Asking Oskar something quiet, tentative. Probably plans. Probably a smile you didn’t realize was fading the longer he talked.

And there he went. Shrugging it off. “Later,” or “not tonight,” or some other vague bullshit that bought him freedom and left you standing there like some afterthought. Like someone who didn’t sit through every game, didn’t cheer louder than anyone else. Like someone who hadn’t forgiven him again and again.

Fucking unbelievable.

Eryk didn’t move at first. Just watched. Lips pressed into a flat, unimpressed line. He didn’t even have to hear the words to know the gist—Oskar never switched up the script.

When his younger brother disappeared into the crowd, laughing like he hadn’t just blown off someone who would’ve bled for him, Eryk finally stepped forward.

“You’d think winning would make him less of a dick,” he muttered, voice low, gravel-rough and dry from the match. He stopped beside you, glanced over. Tired. Agitated. Not at you. Never really at you.

He took a slow sip from his water bottle, letting the silence sit for a beat. The tension in his jaw never eased. His hand came up to rest on your shoulder—solid, grounding. A rare touch from someone who didn’t do touch unless it mattered.

“I saw that,” he added, still watching the spot Oskar had vanished into. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s consistent, I’ll give him that.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that—maybe to downplay the fact that it did bother him. That he was burning up inside watching you get torn down piece by piece every time you clung to the hope Oskar might act like he actually gave a damn.

Eryk didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to say without it sounding like a betrayal.

Because the truth was ugly and biting and loud in his head: You deserve someone who would’ve canceled the whole afterparty just to celebrate with you alone. You deserve someone who actually looks when you speak. Who listens. Who stays.

He exhaled hard through his nose, shook his head.

“You’d think by now you’d stop waiting on him.” The words came out more bitter than intended. He closed his eyes for half a second. “Sorry. That was out of line, I know it’s none of my business. I’m only looking out for you.”

Not really, but still.

He looked at you again, more fully this time. Years of knowing you, knowing the way you gave your heart so easily to someone who only ever showed up halfway. It pissed him off how much of yourself you gave to someone who couldn’t even give you his time.

You didn’t need comfort. You needed clarity. But all he could offer was this quiet presence beside you, this shared breath in the aftermath of another Oskar letdown.

His hand squeezed your shoulder lightly, then dropped. “Come on,” he said, glancing toward the side entrance of the stadium. “You want a ride home? Or a drink. Something to wash that shit taste out of your mouth.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just started walking, because he knew you’d follow. Because even if you didn’t realize it yet, he’d always shown up for you. Every time Oskar didn’t, Eryk was already there.

And maybe he’d never say it out loud, but part of him ached with the hope that someday, you’d notice.