Hi queen can you please write about comforting Vic after a loss?
𑣲 comforting victor wembanyama after a hard loss.
based on one of my bf victor headcanons listed here 😋
victor’s clothes are damp with sweat as his heartbeat shifts between fast and slow, like it’s still trying to figure out which rhythm to take on.
the locker room is empty except for him. no trainers checking on players. no coaches spouting affirmations and platitudes. nothing. just him and his thoughts that keep drifting back to that last play he made like a magnet.
it was dumb. they had a real chance to win, and he blew it.
he buries his head further into his hands, trying to smear the image of his teammates’ disappointed faces. the fans' faces.
suddenly, the room feels suffocating, like the walls are closing in on him. it’s all too much, and without thinking, he does the one thing he knows will comfort him.
he doesn’t have to look far through his phone to find your contact. you are always at the top. favorited.
he grips the phone harder.
“vic?” he exhales a breath of relief at your soft voice, the sound acting as water to the fire within him.
he closes his eyes and leans against the phone, pretending that you’re right there next to him.
“..i’m here,” he breaths out.
the faint ruffling of covers sounds through the phone.
“no. i was having trouble sleeping anyway.”
he nods even though you can’t see him. he leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath.
“how was your day?” he asks.
he hears a click on your end, like you turned on a lamp.
“it was.. okay. pretty boring. i woke up, ate, worked out—oh, and i went to the bookstore.”
victor’s lips turn up. “oh really? what’d you get?”
“just that book series you were saying i should read. what’s it called again? nightmist—”
“mistborn,” he corrects, smiling to himself.
through the phone, he can hear you feel around for something on your nightstand.
“i got to say, the cover looks really good.”
he crosses his arms. “how many times have i told you that a book’s cover does not translate to how good it’ll be?”
a sigh. “way too many for me to count.”
he hums in agreement. “and you never listen.”
a laugh escapes your throat despite yourself. “i can’t help it, okay! i love pretty things.”
he smiles, and for a second, he allows himself to picture it: him, back at your place. your bodies tangled up together in bed as you talked about sweet nothings.
from afar, the scene looks cinematic, almost poetic. just two lovers across the country connected by a single cellular line.
there’s a pause on victor’s end as he remembers why he called you in the first place. he sighs and moves his phone against his other ear.
“..did you see it?” he asks, pained. the question he’s been dreading all night.
“yeah…” then, quieter. “yeah, i did.”
he inhales a deep breath as his eyes flutter close. “wha-what did you think?” he stutters, a part of him afraid of the answer.
“i think… that you played a good game,” you admit.
he shakes his head. “but, i lost us the game. d-did you see those last few plays? i blew it.”
“i did see them, but it was an honest mistake. you can’t beat yourself up over that.”
victor pulls his lips into a thin line. he doesn’t know how to say that he’s been beating himself up since before he even stepped foot on the court tonight. how the countless doubts from others, the comments like “you’re too young", “lights are too bright”, and so on, subtly got to him. he prides himself on being able to mentally isolate himself from negative opinions, but when he messes up a game like this, he starts to wonder if he’s in over his head.
“hey, did i lose you over there?”
victor’s head is hanging between his legs. “..no. i’m still here,” he says, voice sounding fragile.
he pulls his body up and looks around him in the locker room, eyes glossing over at the sight of his teammates' hung-up jerseys. “i let them down, baby…” he says quietly, like he still can’t believe it.
“vic.. you didn’t let anyone down. you helped to get the game tied. do you remember how you guys were down before?”
“and you guys came back. had it within winnable distance in the last quarter. you helped make that possible, vic.”
he bites his lip, taking in your words. what you said should’ve relieved him, but instead it made his heart constrict because he was almost there. he almost won. but he didn’t because he made a fatal mistake when it mattered most.
what if he did it again next game?
victor runs his hand down his face. his voice comes out laced with sorrow and fear. “i don’t know if i can do this, baby…”
another pause. longer this time.
“i believe in you, vic. even when you don’t.”
victor’s shoulders relax at that, like your words allowed the doubt that had been growing inside him to loosen up a bit.
his gaze drifts to the board hanging up on the locker room’s wall.
he swallows hard. “i’m flying to new york tomorrow, and…” his hold on his phone tightens. “it’d really make me feel better if you were there,” he lets out.
your response is quick. “of course, vic. i’ll be there.”
and for the first time tonight, he feels hopeful.
amaya’s note: i wrote this after game 2 💔. that off-the-back pass to castle and his face afterwards?? oh my hearttt. i hope i did your request justice and ty for asking! i love getting requests 🤗. i can't wait for game 3 tonight.
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