Being friends with Alex meant you were practically part of the Nikolov family. Especially with Simeon. The two of you were the same age, and over time, it became clear—he had a thing for you.

Simeon was confident, disciplined, and unusually mature for eighteen. A rising volleyball star, he was known for his calm under pressure and quiet leadership. Despite his youth, he carried himself like a seasoned pro, always crediting his family for shaping his work ethic.

The 2025 VNL had kicked off three weeks ago. It was the second week of the men’s matches, and Bulgaria was playing Turkey. You were watching from the stands when it happened.

He had just landed from a block when he collapsed, clutching his ankle. The pain on his face was immediate, and his groan echoed through the stadium. Alex’s expression twisted in guilt—as if somehow, he blamed himself for his younger brother’s injury. Simeon's teammates rushed to him and helped him off the court.

Three days had passed since then. He was still in the hospital, resting and healing. You sat by his bedside, his back propped against the headboard, the room filled with quiet conversation about recent games and updates from the outside world.

“Mom and Dad were here earlier,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “They warned me you’d be next.”

His eyes scanned your face. Even now, bandaged and tired, he still looked at you like you were the brightest thing in the room.

“I thought you'd come with Alex,” he added softly.

Then, without warning, his hand reached for yours, fingers sliding between yours with a kind of familiarity that felt both sudden and right.

Before you could react, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. It was soft, lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

When he pulled back, his voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Thanks for coming.”