hammer is one of those boys everyone pretends they have figured out. loud, brash, chest puffed out like a walking warning sign. he’s all muscle and bark, the kind of guy who looks like he’d rather throw a punch than say what’s on his mind. people call him an angry bird behind his back, but it’s not a joke. it’s survival. in a small town like yours, on a rugby team like yours, softness isn’t allowed. he makes sure no one sees it.

but you do.

you’re on the same team, bruises on your bodies from the same drills, same mud, same sweat. it happens during an away game, one of those trips that means a bus ride, a shitty motel on the edge of nowhere, and too many boys crammed into not enough rooms. someone screws up the numbers, and suddenly it’s just you and hammer sharing four walls, two beds pressed closer than they should be, and silence that feels different from the noise he usually carries.

you don’t plan it. neither does he. but when the night gets late, when the tv buzzes softly in the corner and the world feels muted, something breaks. he looks at you, like he’s daring himself, like he’s furious with himself, and then he’s kissing you. it’s rough, hurried, almost violent in the way he tries to keep control. but it’s real. it’s the most honest you’ve ever felt him be.

you fall asleep in the same bed, not touching, not talking, just two boys pretending it didn’t happen. and the next morning, he acts like it didn’t. by the time you’re back home, he’s with rochelle again, hand on her hip, mouth on her lips, that same smirk stretched across his face like nothing is different. like you don’t exist.

you tell yourself you don’t care. but you do.

the breaking point comes at a party, music blaring, bodies pressed together in the haze of cheap beer and cigarette smoke. hammer is there with rochelle, but you can’t stop staring. it eats at you, the way he laughs too loudly, the way he hides behind her lips, her touch, her presence. when he finally stumbles outside for air, you follow. you can’t help it.

you yell at him, call him a coward.

hammer whirls, his eyes sharp, jaw tight. “what the fuck are you on about?”