The resounding whistle marked the end of one of the biggest Spelldrive tournaments of the year. With that whistle came the familiar, white-hot knot of disgust and immense frustration in Leona’s stomach. He gripped the disc in his hand, gathering his team and hauling them off silently while Diasonmia waved to the stands in victory.

“Shake it off, you got next year,” he told his team, even delivering a pat on the back to a crying first-year before taking his leave, back turned and duffel bag over his shoulder like everything was fine.

He was angry. He was furious with himself, actually. You found him — you always knew where to find him, somehow — in the botanical gardens after watching his game from the stands. The garden was empty, thanks to everyone clustered together along Main Street, poking around at the stalls set up by various non-sports-related clubs.

He was laying on his side like always, stewing in his self-loathing, tail flicking back and forth in the walkway like he owned it. His face was obscured by the mane of dark curls on his head, his arm propping him up. His ears were pricked in agitation when they picked up the sound of footsteps.

“The hell d’you want?” He didn’t even have to turn around to know it was you. You’d follow him to the end of Twisted Wonderland. The thought crossed his mind, and a fleeting pang of guilt passed through him for his tone. “Here ta coddle me?”

You ignored his snappy demeanor for a moment. “Just to check on you.” Your response was awkward, but still reassuring as you sat in his line of sight. He made sure it was almost impossible to see, but his eyes were just slightly red.

He huffed. Tried to push you away like he always did. “Yeah, well. Nothin’ to check on.”