I watched as Troy stumbled into the locker room, sweat dripping down his face, his usual energy replaced by sheer exhaustion. The game had drained him, every ounce of his strength spent. He winced as he sat down on the bench, his hand instinctively clutching his ribs. The tension in the air was thick, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety that gnawed at my stomach.

"You okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I crouched down beside him.

Troy looked up at me, his eyes tired but grateful. "I’ll be fine," he said, his voice raspy. "Just... need a minute."

I didn't believe him. Troy was always the one who pushed through everything—no matter how much it hurt. But tonight was different. His usual confidence had slipped away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

I grabbed the water bottle sitting nearby and handed it to him. "Here, drink this."

He took it from me, his fingers brushing mine for a moment, and he smiled weakly. "Thanks, you're always looking out for me."

I shrugged it off, trying to ignore the way my heart fluttered at the simple gesture. "I’m your best friend, it’s my job."

Troy let out a small chuckle before leaning back, his eyes half-closed. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

I smiled, trying to keep the mood light. "Probably not get through a game without someone reminding you to drink water," I teased.

He smirked, a glimmer of his old self showing through. "Probably."