#reaves

you were wrapping rui’s ankle when you heard the whispers. low and careless, passed between players like it didn’t mean anything.

“dončić’s coming.”

you didn’t flinch or look up. simply pressed your thumb into the tape roll and smoothed the edge flat, slow and even. like it was any other name, as if your pulse didn’t stutter for half a second.

“trade just cleared,” someone else added. “they’re saying he’s landing this morning.”

you exhaled through your nose. rui flexed his foot and gave you that look he always did when the locker room got loud. it was half amused, half waiting to see how you’d react.

“you good?” you asked, already reaching for your scissors.

“oh, i’m great,” he said, sly grin blooming. “just wondering if i should fake a hamstring pull. you might get too busy for me.”

you gave him a flat look. “you fake an injury and i’ll bench you myself.”

he laughed, he didn’t push it, nobody would. deep down, they all knew you weren’t here for them.

you’d been brought in early in the season as a new recovery specialist, hand picked and overqualified. you didn’t do smiles or flirtations. if you touched them, it was clinical. if you spoke, it was direct. they respected you because you demanded it. it was just a shame to them that you were so damn beautiful, yet untouchable.

well, at least everyone but austin.

austin was kind to you, opposite to his usual self. the type to say thank you every time you finished a stretch, even when his voice was caught somewhere in his throat. he never crossed a line, even when you could see in his eyes that he really wish he could. he was loyal, though. showed up early. stayed late. always tried to impress without making it obvious. you liked working with him. but now luka was coming, and even if you kept your head down, your hands steady, your face unreadable, something in the energy shifted the moment his name hit the floor.

“you good?” rui asked, snapping you out of your train of thought. “might lose your best client.”

“you weren’t even top five.” you sighed, giving him a slight grin, patting the tape to signal you were done wrapping.

he laughed, and a voice chimed in from behind you. “damn,” austin said, smirking, “guess i’ll have to work my way up.”

you rolled your eyes. your mind was elsewhere. in reality, it was just a new name on the roster, another ego to handle. but deep down you knew, when two men like luka and austin share a court, someone will always ends up on their knees.

it was later in the day, after weights and film and whatever half assed cardio the boys managed to commit to before giving up and calling it hustle. you were restocking, wiping sweat off tables with your music low, sleeves pushed up, hair pulled back and frizzed from hours of proximity. nothing glamorous about the grind, but it was yours. the air still buzzed from a scrimmage earlier, players lingering, talking shit, comparing stats like they weren’t already exhausted. same rhythm, same faces. until the room changed.

luka dončić stood in the doorway, light behind him making him seem almost mythical. he knew every eye was on him and didn’t mind in the slightest. he was taller than he looked in footage, with broad shoulders wrapped in a clingy black tee, sleeves rolled once, sweat still fresh like he hadn’t even changed since landing, grey sweats slouched low, sneakers loose. you met his gaze just as he scanned the room, and stopped on you.

his eyes stayed there for a moment. they were lazy but direct, blue like something cold and carved, and too damn knowing. like someone had told him about you. the way you worked; the way you didn’t play, the way the other guys always looked, and the way you never looked back. you held his stare until he smiled first. his smile was cocky. almost unreadable., like he was already plotting.

“you the trainer, yeah?” he asked, voice thick with accent, casual like he already knew the answer.

you turned to face him fully, arms crossed. “you’re late.”

he laughed, low and husky, more smoke than sound. he stepped forward, slow and heavy footed.

“eh, airport bullshit,” he murmured. “but i’m here now!”

you handed him the clipboard without blinking. “strip down to shorts. get on the back table.”

his brow rose, just slightly, and you saw the flicker of challenge behind it. it didn't make you flinch.

behind you, you heard the sound of a velcro strap tugged a little too tight. austin was still here. he was on the table against the wall, hoodie thrown over his head, long legs stretched out like he owned the place. he wasn’t looking at you. he was looking at luka. jaw flexed, fingers curled over the edge of the bench, like he was trying not to speak first.

you didn’t need to ask how he felt about the new addition. the tension was thick and heavy in the air.

you adjusted the towel over the padded table, not rushing. you heard luka’s shirt drop behind you. cotton against hardwood. the scuff of his sneakers coming off. then the soft thud of his frame settling down, loose and ready. like this was any other recovery day.

you turned, and he was lying there shirtless. arms folded under his head, eyes trained on the ceiling like he was bored already. he had that athletic build, lean but cut, bruises from game footage still faint on his hip.

“this is a flexibility and movement screening,” you said, voice flat. “this is an assessment, not a photo op. keep your mouth shut unless i ask.”

he grinned wider. “or what, you will punish me?” you narrowed your eyes, and austin scoffed, just once. and just like that, the match had started. they weren’t even on the court yet, but you could feel the heat rising. and honestly? it excited you more than you wanted to admit.

you didn’t travel with the team for their first game with a new player, just prepped kits and updated notes from the training room while the screens played overhead. the whole team played well, luka and austin even better. the tension sharp, passes cleaner than you’d predicted. but it wasn’t really chemistry, it was competition dressed in purple and gold. someone always had to outdo the other. you kept your distance, but it was hard not to notice how often the camera found one of them, trailed by the other.

just a few hours later, they were back. jerseys damp, gym bags slung, footsteps heavier than usual. the locker room was loud, but not in a celebratory way. you were crouched beside the fridge, restocking recovery packs when you heard his voice.

“so?”

you glanced up. austin was leaned against the counter now, towel around his neck, arms folded across his chest like he’d been waiting there.

you blinked. “so what?”

“what’d you think?”

you stood, tossing the ice pack into a cooler. “about the game?”

his gaze didn’t leave you. “’bout him.”

you raised a brow. “luka?”

austin didn’t say anything. he just shifted his weight, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter, jaw working at his cheek so hard you thought he may be tasting metal.

“he held his own,” you offered, nodding a bit. “played smart. didn’t overdo it.”

he scoffed softly under his breath. “yeah, not yet.”

you turned, starting to organize the massage table. “you worried he’s gonna outshine you?”

austin smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “nah,” he said, voice low. “just think it’s funny how everyone acts like he’s God’s gift.”

you paused, then looked at him, really looked.

“is this about the game,” you said slowly, “or something else?”

he shrugged, casual, but the tension was in his shoulders. “you tell me. you been starin’ at him same way everyone else has.” you didn’t reply right away. just leaned on the table, watching him watch you.

“i see the same thing in him i see in you,” you said, tone soft but firm. “somebody trying to be the best.”

“is that what it is?” he asked, eyes sharp. “you see us the same?”

you didn’t answer. because the truth was, you didn’t. austin burned quiet and slow. but luka came in already on fire. austin didn’t say anything after that. he didn’t smirk, didn’t joke. just pushed off the counter with a muttered, “guess we’ll see.” he left without waiting for your response, the door swinging shut behind him with a little more force than it needed.

you were alone again, surrounded by cold packs and silence, until your phone buzzed.

1 new message — Luka Dončić:

you still there? i need some work.

you stared at the screen for a second too long. your thumb hovered, chest getting tighter. against your better judgment, you texted back.

table’s open. back room.

Rest in peace, Chris Simon.

Like You, Roque Dalton; translated by Jack Hirschman.