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(SONG RECOMMENDATION: SWEATER WEATHER BY THE NEIGHBOURHOOD)

SETH'S POV

“You'll be captain this year, Miguel, and please... for the nationals, I want you both to work together. If one causes a fight on the ice again, I'll bloody bench the both of you,” the coach threatened. He was pissed—four years of putting up with our crap, and I’d never seen him this worked up.

Bloody hell. Just kill me now.

I fought every urge to roll my eyes. I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back every sarcastic comment bubbling in my head. This wasn’t the time to be a smart mouth, especially after our fight cost us the first game of the season.

I hated Miguel.

It wasn’t new. I hated always being second to him. I hated being stuck behind him. From our first year in high school to this final one, I was always second fiddle. Coming in second in everything while the golden boy with his rich daddy basked in first place. Absolute bullshit.

“Do you both understand me?” Coach asked again.

“Crystal!”  

“Understood, sir!” Miguel and I chorused.  

“You’re both dismissed,” Coach barked without sparing us another glance. I grumbled, making sure to shove my shoulder aggressively into Miguel’s as I headed to my locker to get ready for a bath.

My eyes trailed over to him as he walked to his stall. He stopped and glared at me, his eyes wide with irritation. I didn’t look away. If he wanted to play a staring game, fine. 

Somehow, in the middle of our stupid contest, my gaze lingered on his stormy blue eyes. They were the most chaotic yet captivating shade of blue I’d ever seen.  

He was perfectly built. We were both six-foot-four—I knew because today was the first day of our final year, and Coach had mentioned it during roll call. Miguel had a flawless eight-pack, which wasn’t surprising given how much he worked out. After all, he was *captain and perfect.* 

I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop staring. My eyes trailed lower, to his briefs. Of course, sharing a locker room meant I’d seen him naked plenty of times before. But why did it feel like he’d grown even more… impressive over the holidays?  

He was beautiful—I had to admit it. Not just handsome, but beautiful in a way that made me uneasy. Masculine, but almost delicate. There was a mole on his thigh that made me wonder how many more were hidden… yet. 

Stop it, Seth. Bloody hell, calm down.  

My eyes darted back to his face, and there it was—a smug grin plastered across his lips.  

“Done eye-fucking me, Seth?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.  

“Bloody bastard… you wish,” I snapped before storming into my stall. My ears burned at the tips, embarrassed for being caught ogling. I turned on the shower and heard him do the same. My hatred for him spiked by the second.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about him.  

I convinced myself that my reaction wasn’t about him. It was just because I hadn’t had sex in months. Heather and I broke up over the holidays—she found someone else, claiming they were soulmates. I didn’t care. I threw myself into practice and studies, keeping myself distracted.  

Yet here I was, my cock semi-erect, my mind flashing back to Miguel’s perfect form. 

A low groan escaped me as I pumped my length, convincing myself it was only because I’d been celibate for so long. But my thoughts betrayed me—images of him filled my mind: his packs, his smooth skin, the outline of his dick in his briefs.

“Fuck… oh my fucking god,” I groaned, spilling into my palm. As I leaned back against the stall door, shame washed over me.  

I needed sex. And fast. There was no way I’d just jerked off while thinking about *him.*  

I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. His shower was still running. I couldn’t help but hope he’d slip, maybe crack his head or choke on bathwater.  

As I passed his locker, his phone buzzed loudly. A smirk tugged at my lips. I could take his phone and mess with him—make him sweat for a bit. I grabbed it and quickly dressed.  

The phone buzzed again. I sighed, annoyed by the incessant beeping, and unlocked it. I’d seen him put in his password a thousand times.  

The messages caught my eye.  

“Babe, coming yet?”  

“Taking forever, babe.”  

“I’m by your house. Your roommate grilled me before letting me in.”  

For some reason, it pissed me off. He had a lover? I’d never seen him with anyone. Of course, the golden boy would keep his personal life squeaky clean for the public while secretly having someone. But why did it make me agitated?  

Then I saw the next message.  

“I’m hard.”  

What?  

A picture popped up, and I froze. A man’s arm wrapped around a cock, balls cupped, the mirror reflecting everything but his face.  

My heart raced. I scrolled further, seeing more messages, more pictures. My chest tightened as I realized the truth.  

The voice in one clip stopped me cold. It was Miguel. He was moaning, groaning, and whimpering.  

“Why the bloody fuck do you have my phone?” Miguel’s voice boomed as he stormed toward me. He snatched it from my hand, his glare sending chills down my spine.  

Finally, the expression I’d longed to see—shock, panic, vulnerability. Six years of knowing him, and I’d never seen him look so undone. Adam's apple bobbed nervously as the sound of his own moans echoed from the phone.

“Miguel…” I drawled, shocked but pleased. “You’re a bloody fag. You’re gay!”