Something About You

Why do I even care?

Layla sat on the edge of a bench in the medical room, carefully packing her bag with all the necessary supplies for the upcoming match. The atmosphere around the stadium was buzzing, even though the game was still four hours away. The club, Lionsgate United, had a big match against a top European team, and everyone was feeling the pressure. Layla could hear the faint sounds of fans gathering outside, their excitement rising.

As she tried to fit everything into her medical bag—bandages, antiseptics, ice packs, and other essentials—she realized how heavy it was getting. The weight pulled on her shoulder when she stood up, making her wince slightly. She adjusted the strap, trying to make it more comfortable, but the bag was clearly too much for her to carry easily.

Just as she was about to leave the room, Aaron walked in. He was dressed in his pre-match tracksuit, his expression unreadable as usual. Without a word, he crossed the room, his eyes briefly meeting hers before dropping to the bag she was struggling with.

Before Layla could say anything, Aaron stepped forward and, with one swift motion, lifted the bag off her shoulder. He slung it over his own, his movements effortless. There was no conversation, no questions—just a quiet gesture that left Layla standing there, momentarily stunned.

"Uh… thanks," she muttered, unsure if he even heard her as he turned and headed toward the door. Aaron didn’t respond, didn’t even glance back, but Layla couldn’t help but notice the subtle ease with which he carried the heavy bag, as if it weighed nothing at all. She followed him silently, her thoughts racing but her words caught in her throat.

In that small, unspoken moment, Layla wondered if Aaron had sensed her struggle or if he was simply that kind of person—silent, but always watching.

As they walked side by side through the hallway, Layla felt the urge to break the silence. The stadium corridors were quiet, only the distant hum of pre-match preparations echoing around them. Aaron, as always, was focused, his steps steady, carrying her medical bag like it was a feather.

Layla glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to thank him properly or ask how he was feeling about the upcoming game. But then, she remembered Alea. The sharp comments, the tension between them—especially after that day at the café. Layla didn’t want to stir any more trouble. She knew Alea already disliked her, and any interaction with Aaron might just make things worse.

Her words caught in her throat, and she closed her mouth again. It was safer this way, she thought. Avoiding more attention, avoiding more misunderstandings. She couldn’t afford to get involved in whatever drama Alea was holding onto. Layla kept her gaze forward, her heart beating a little faster, feeling the weight of unspoken words hang heavy between them.

Aaron didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, or if he did, he gave no sign of it. He walked ahead, his face unreadable as always.

When they reached the medical room, Aaron set the bag down effortlessly, barely making a sound. Layla hesitated, watching him as she moved forward, ready to take the bag back. But Aaron didn’t move away immediately. Instead, he stood still, his tall frame casting a shadow over the bag, and then he turned slightly, his eyes scanning the room before settling on her. His hazel eyes were sharp, the color catching in the light, as if searching for something unsaid.

Layla could feel the weight of his stare, and her stomach fluttered nervously. He didn’t speak, just kept looking at her in that way of his—focused, unreadable. She fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight, unsure of what to say or do. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. It reminded her of the last time they’d been this close, how she had felt unsure and small in front of him. She wanted to say something now, anything, but the memory of Alea’s harsh words from the other day flashed through her mind. She didn’t want to make things worse, didn’t want to fuel whatever strange tension already existed between them. So, she kept her mouth shut, the words dying on her lips.

Aaron took a step toward her, and Layla froze. Her heart thudded in her chest as he drew closer, his presence almost overwhelming. She forced herself to stand still, not backing away, though every instinct screamed at her to put some distance between them. He stopped just a foot away, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. For a second, she thought he was going to say something, maybe confront her about the awkwardness between them.

But then his lips curled into the faintest of smiles—small, almost imperceptible, but there—and he leaned in just slightly, his voice low and smooth. “You’re going to watch me, right?” he asked, his tone almost casual, as if he were asking about something trivial.

Layla, still caught off guard by Aaron’s question, nodded slowly. She didn’t really know what else to do. Her mind was a blur of confusion, but something about his presence, his calm yet intense demeanor, made her instinctively agree. Even though she wasn’t entirely sure why he had asked, or what it meant, she gave him the smallest of nods, as if that would somehow make sense of the moment.

Aaron’s smile widened just a fraction as he saw her response. For the first time since they’d started walking together, his expression softened. Without warning, he reached out and ruffled her hair gently, his fingers brushing against her scalp with a surprising tenderness. The gesture caught Layla completely off guard. It wasn’t something she had expected from him—not Aaron Bekker, the serious, focused football star who rarely let his guard down.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks warm as his hand left her hair, the touch brief but somehow lingering. Before she could say anything, or even react, Aaron turned and started walking back toward the field. His movements were unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. He didn’t glance back, but Layla could still feel the weight of his earlier gaze on her, the strange connection that had formed in those few moments.

She stood there for a while, watching him disappear down the corridor, trying to process what had just happened. Aaron had barely spoken a word, yet he had left her feeling more confused than ever. Her hand instinctively moved to her hair where he had touched it, her mind swirling with thoughts she couldn’t quite organize. And that small, almost mischievous smile of his—that was the thing that stayed with her the most.

Layla let out a slow breath, her heart still beating fast. She wasn’t sure what was happening between them, but she knew one thing for certain: Aaron Bekker was more than just a football player in her life now, and she had no idea where this was heading.

The stadium was buzzing with energy as the match began. Bright stadium lights illuminated the pitch, casting long shadows on the players. The roar of the crowd was deafening, with fans chanting the names of their favorite players. The green turf stretched wide underfoot, the perfect contrast to the vibrant red and blue uniforms of the two teams battling for supremacy. The tension in the air was electric, each moment ripe with anticipation as the ball passed from one player to the next with skill and precision. Aaron’s club, Lionsgate United, was up against a renowned European team, their rivalry well-known, making the stakes even higher.

Layla stood at the sidelines with the medical team, her eyes following Aaron as he moved swiftly across the field. He was in his element—strong, focused, and graceful. Every touch of the ball seemed effortless, like he was orchestrating the game with invisible strings. He was quick, cutting through defenders, and even from a distance, Layla could see the intense concentration on his face. The crowd erupted in cheers as Aaron launched a perfect pass to a teammate, setting up an opportunity for a goal.

Just as she turned to scan the sidelines, Layla’s eyes landed on someone wearing a Lionsgate jersey. The number on the back caught her attention immediately: 22. Aaron’s back number. Her brow furrowed in confusion until she saw who it was—Alea. She was standing confidently near the pitch, arms folded, clearly there to show support. Layla’s stomach churned as she realized Alea wasn’t just any spectator. She was wearing Aaron’s number proudly, almost like a statement.

For a moment, Layla couldn’t tear her eyes away. The number on Alea’s back felt like a slap, as if Alea was trying to make some kind of claim on him. And just when Layla thought it couldn’t get any worse, Aaron glanced over to the sidelines, his eyes finding Alea. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he gave a subtle nod in her direction.

Layla’s heart sank. Her chest tightened, and an irrational heat rushed through her veins. She had no right to be upset—this wasn’t her business—but that didn’t stop the sharp sting of jealousy from crawling up her spine. What the hell? she thought, her mind racing. She felt like a fool for letting her guard down around Aaron, even for a second.

In her head, the flood of anger and frustration bubbled up uncontrollably. Of course. Of course he’s smiling at her. Layla bit the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her emotions in check as her mind raged on. Aaron Bekker, you’re such a cliché. Just another football player with too many girls in his orbit, huh? I should’ve known. What was I expecting? You’re all the same—charming, confident, and full of yourself. And now this? Playboy. Complete playboy.

Her eyes narrowed as she looked back at Aaron, who was back to focusing on the game. But she couldn’t shake that moment, that stupid smile he gave Alea. God, what a player, she muttered inwardly, clenching her fists in frustration.

For the rest of the match, every time Aaron had the ball, Layla couldn’t help but feel irritated. Even as he played brilliantly, her thoughts circled back to that smile, that jersey. Her mind was running wild with assumptions, even though she knew it was pointless. Why do I even care? she asked herself, fuming silently on the sidelines, but the answer wasn’t as clear as she hoped.

As the match raged on, Layla tried to shake off the irritation gnawing at her, but it was impossible to focus. She folded her arms tightly, her eyes flicking between Aaron on the field and Alea on the sidelines, feeling a knot tighten in her chest. The roar of the crowd around her was just a blur, barely reaching her as she kept replaying that moment in her head—Aaron’s smile at Alea, the way she wore his number like a badge of honor. It was infuriating, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push the thought away.

Standing beside her, Sarah noticed the sudden change in Layla’s mood. At first, she didn’t say anything, but after a few more minutes, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

"Hey, what’s with the grumpy face?" Sarah nudged Layla gently with her elbow, raising an eyebrow. "You’ve been staring daggers at the field for the last ten minutes."

Layla flinched slightly at the question, forcing a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

But Sarah wasn’t buying it. Her eyes followed Layla’s gaze to where Alea stood, proudly sporting Aaron’s number. It only took a second for her to put two and two together, and a playful grin crept onto her face. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

"Ohhh, I see what’s going on here," Sarah said with a smirk. “It’s about Alea, isn’t it?”

Layla blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, of course not. Why would it be about her?” She tried to act nonchalant, but her cheeks betrayed her with a faint flush.

Sarah chuckled softly. “Come on, Layla, you’re not fooling me. I saw the way you tensed up when you noticed her wearing Aaron’s number. It’s obvious.”

Layla let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not that. I mean… okay, it’s just annoying. It’s not about Aaron or her. I just don’t like seeing people like Alea acting all—” she paused, searching for the right words, “—territorial. It’s childish.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, amused. “Territorial, huh? And Aaron smiling at her, that didn’t bother you at all?”

Layla’s face flushed even more, and she quickly looked away, her arms crossing tighter. “I don’t care about Aaron,” she muttered, though the words felt hollow even as she said them. “I’m just annoyed by the whole situation.”

Sarah laughed, giving Layla a knowing look. “Sure, you don’t care about Aaron,” she teased, drawing out the words. “But let me guess… if he smiled at you like that, it’d be a whole different story, wouldn’t it?”

Layla shot Sarah a sharp look, but there was no malice behind it—just frustration and embarrassment. She didn’t want to admit how much that brief interaction had gotten under her skin. How silly it all felt.

“Drop it, Sarah,” Layla sighed, rolling her eyes, but even she couldn’t suppress the tiny flicker of doubt creeping into her mind.

As Layla and Sarah continued their playful banter, their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sudden commotion on the field. One of the medical staff came rushing down from the sidelines, his face tight with urgency. Layla’s heart skipped a beat when she noticed the seriousness in his expression.

“Layla!” The senior physiotherapist was suddenly in front of her, his breath coming in quick gasps. “We’ve got an injury. Aaron’s down—looks like he’s struggling to breathe.”

Her stomach lurched at the mention of Aaron. Layla snapped her head toward the field, spotting the group of players huddled around someone on the ground. That’s when it hit her—Aaron was the one on the ground, gripping his chest, clearly in pain.

“What happened?” Layla asked, her voice trembling slightly as adrenaline surged through her body. She was about to fire off more questions, but before she could even finish, Sarah grabbed her by the wrist.

“Come on, Layla!” Sarah didn’t wait for a reply, pulling Layla forward into a sprint toward the field. The world around them seemed to blur as they rushed across the grass, the cheers of the crowd now distant background noise.

Layla’s mind raced as they closed the distance to where Aaron lay. She couldn’t believe this was happening—her hands were already tingling with the familiar feeling of nerves before treating an injury, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t just any player. It was Aaron.

When they finally reached Aaron, the other medics were already in action. One was checking his pulse, while another was gently elevating his head to help with his breathing. Layla could see the strain on Aaron’s face, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought for air.

"Layla, grab the oxygen," one of the medics directed without missing a beat, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

She moved quickly, her hands trembling only slightly as she pulled the oxygen mask from her medical kit. Kneeling down beside Aaron, Layla could feel her pulse racing, but her training kicked in, steadying her as she adjusted the mask. Aaron’s eyes fluttered open, and for a brief second, their gazes met. His normally fierce, confident expression was replaced with vulnerability—something Layla had never seen in him before.

“Here, hold still,” she said quietly, her voice more calm than she felt inside. Gently, she placed the mask over his nose and mouth, making sure it was secure.

Aaron’s breath slowed slightly as the oxygen began to help, but he still looked like he was in pain, his body tense beneath her touch. Layla focused on keeping her movements steady, making sure the mask was properly fitted and Aaron could breathe more easily.

As she worked, Layla couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. It wasn’t just about treating an injury—it was about making sure he was okay, about helping someone she had started to care about, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it.