Something About You

Layla Barneeca Anderson

The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the training ground, painting the worn grass with warm gold and casting long, angled shadows across the field. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, earth, and the lingering bite of liniment from the locker room. Laughter echoed intermittently, a mixture of heavy breathing and half-hearted banter, as the players wound down from another grueling session.

Some sprawled across the pitch, arms stretched over their heads, while others kept the rhythm going, lazily kicking balls toward makeshift goals. Despite the fatigue settling deep in their muscles, the camaraderie on the field remained lively—a strange energy born out of shared exhaustion.

Aaron Bekker wiped his brow with the hem of his shirt, his lungs still burning slightly from the sprints they’d just finished. His heart thudded in his chest, slowing to a steadier rhythm with each passing breath. He rolled his shoulders, working out the tension that clung to him like the weight of invisible chains, enjoying the familiar ache in his muscles. The ache was comforting, almost grounding—evidence of a job well done. He let out a long exhale, feeling the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

Just as he turned to jog toward the edge of the pitch, a blur shot through his peripheral vision—

Whack!

The impact came out of nowhere. A football struck him squarely in the nose, snapping his head back with brutal precision. The dull, meaty thud of leather meeting bone rang in his ears, followed almost immediately by a sharp, searing pain that spread across his face like wildfire. Aaron stumbled, momentarily disoriented, his vision swimming at the edges as his brain caught up with the shock of the hit. His hand shot up instinctively to his nose, trying to hold it together, both figuratively and literally.

"Oh, for f**k’s sake—" Aaron cursed under his breath, his voice muffled by the palm pressed against his face. His eyes stung, watering uncontrollably from the sharpness of the pain.

"What the hell, James?" he growled through gritted teeth, though his words were slightly distorted thanks to his swollen nose.

A few feet away, James was already doubled over in laughter, clutching his sides like a man who had just heard the joke of the century. "Mate, you should’ve seen your face!" he wheezed between fits of laughter, raising his hands in mock apology. "Sorry, sorry! I thought you’d dodge it!"

Aaron shot him a glare, though there was little heat behind it. "Dodge it? What do I look like—f*****g Neo from The Matrix?" He pressed the bridge of his nose, wincing as the stinging intensified. "God, James, your aim’s worse than your bloody banter!"

Still grinning, James gave a carefree shrug. "Nah, my aim’s perfect. You’re just slow as hell."

Aaron couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, though the laugh ended in a pained hiss. He pinched his nose harder, half-expecting to hear the crack of something broken, but luckily, the bone seemed intact. The throbbing, though, was relentless, and he could already feel the area starting to swell.

"You’re a f*****g i***t," Aaron muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Just wait until I get my hands on you—"

"Alright, alright," James cut him off with a grin, clearly not fazed by the threat. "But—" He jabbed a finger toward Aaron's nose, "—you should get that checked before it blows up like a balloon, mate."

Aaron scoffed, rubbing the sore spot gingerly. "It’s just a knock. I’m fine."

"Yeah, yeah, you always say that until your face turns into Rudolph's," James teased, giving him a playful shove in the direction of the medical room. "Come on, Bekker. You know Coach’ll rip me a new one if you show up to the match looking like that."

Aaron groaned, half-annoyed, half-resigned. "You’re loving this, aren’t you?"

"Absolutely." James’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But seriously, go get it checked. I’d rather not have to explain to Coach why our star player looks like he ran face-first into a brick wall."

Aaron let out a long sigh, knowing there was no escaping it. Once James started fussing, he wouldn’t stop until Aaron did what he wanted. There was a stubbornness to James that was both annoying and weirdly endearing—like an older brother who made your life hell but would still make sure you didn’t walk around with a broken nose.

"Fine, fine," Aaron muttered begrudgingly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if Alea’s in there, I’m holding you personally responsible."

James let out a bark of laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. "Deal. But hey—if she is, at least you’ll have a great excuse to flirt."

Aaron rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You’re an idiot."

"Yeah, yeah." James gave him a cheeky salute. "See you at dinner, mate. Try not to faint from all the pain and suffering."

Aaron shook his head, biting back a smile as he jogged toward the medical room. The sting in his nose lingered, but so did the warmth of their banter—a reminder that no matter how tough things got, there were always moments like these to make it all bearable.

Aaron dragged his feet toward the medical room, the weight of the day pressing down on his shoulders. His nose still throbbed from the hit, the dull ache making him wince with every step. As he trudged along the empty corridors, he muttered under his breath, cursing James and his terrible aim. The sound of his own voice echoed faintly against the walls, interrupted only by the low, constant hum of the fluorescent lights above. The sterile smell of disinfectant lingered faintly in the air, reminding him of all the times he'd ended up in here before.

"Bloody James," Aaron grumbled, pressing his hand against his sore nose. "Of all the places to aim..."

He could already picture the situation in his head: Alea sitting behind her desk, smug as ever, waiting to tease him relentlessly the moment he walked in. He could see the grin she’d give him, half-professional, half-mocking, as she’d fuss over his nose like he was made of glass. It wasn’t that Aaron disliked Alea—she was good at her job, after all—but the constant teasing? He could do without that.

Every time she treated him, there was no middle ground—either she was all business, acting like a surgeon preparing for a life-saving operation, or she would make him feel like a kid who’d scraped his knee on the playground. Aaron wasn’t in the mood for either of those scenarios today, especially with the match looming. The last thing he needed was her grinning at him like she had the upper hand.

He stopped just short of the medical room door, his hand hovering over the handle for a moment. A knot tightened in his chest, a mix of dread and hope swirling in his stomach.

Please don’t be Alea. Please don’t be Alea.

With a sigh, he braced himself and pushed the door open. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit him immediately, mingling with the cool air that always seemed to linger in these rooms. His eyes quickly scanned the room, his breath held as he prepared for the worst.

But to his immense relief, Alea wasn’t there.

Aaron let out a quiet sigh, slumping slightly against the doorframe as the tension melted from his shoulders. "Thank God," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. He straightened up, stepping further inside.

"Bekker, what happened to you?" A voice broke through the silence, making him glance up. A staff member, someone he vaguely recognized from the medical team but didn’t know well, was standing by one of the cabinets, busy sorting through some supplies. The man glanced at Aaron’s face, his brow furrowing as he spotted the damage. "That looks like it hurts."

Aaron shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, took a ball to the face during training." He pointed toward his nose, still feeling the dull throb of pain. "James's doing, obviously."

The staff member chuckled, shaking his head. "Ouch. Bet that’ll bruise. You want some ice for it?"

"Probably a good idea," Aaron muttered, moving toward one of the treatment chairs and dropping down into it with a soft groan. He leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment as he exhaled slowly. The room was quiet again, save for the rustling of the staff member gathering supplies. It wasn’t Alea, and that was good enough for now.

The staff member approached him a moment later, handing him a cold pack. Aaron took it gratefully, pressing it gingerly against his nose, wincing slightly at the sudden chill.

"You should be fine for the match, though," the staff member said, glancing at Aaron’s nose as he checked for any swelling. "Doesn’t look broken, just swollen. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse."

"Yeah, real lucky," Aaron muttered sarcastically, though he appreciated the man's quick assessment. He leaned back in the chair, his thoughts drifting as the cold began to numb the ache in his face.

Could’ve been worse, though, Aaron thought to himself, his eyes half-closed as the coolness of the ice pack dulled the pain. At least it wasn’t Alea... or worse, the nose actually breaking. That would've been a nightmare—Coach would have had him benched in a second, and the press? Oh, they’d love to turn that into a story.

His fingers tightened slightly on the cold pack, still annoyed at James’s terrible aim. It wasn’t the first time James had gotten him into trouble, but Aaron knew this was just part of the game. Accidents happened. Still, he couldn’t help the small smirk that played at his lips when he thought about the payback.

Next training session, he mused, James isn’t going to see it coming. Payback’s going to be sweet.

Aaron shifted in the chair, feeling more relaxed now that the swelling seemed to be under control. The quiet hum of the room started to lull him into a state of calm, his muscles slowly unwinding after the long day.

"You good, mate?" the staff member asked, his voice cutting through Aaron’s thoughts.

Aaron opened one eye, giving a slight nod. "Yeah, I’m good. Just... glad it wasn’t worse."

"Good. Make sure to take it easy for the rest of the day. You don’t want to aggravate that."

Aaron grunted in agreement, though his mind was already elsewhere—thinking about the match, the training, and how he was going to get back at James for this little incident.

"Thanks," Aaron mumbled as the staff member left him to rest. Alone now, he let out a long sigh, leaning his head back against the chair again.

His mind wandered back to Alea for a moment, a wry grin tugging at his lips. As much as he dreaded her teasing, a small part of him wondered what she would've said if she'd been the one to patch him up.

She’d probably say something like, ‘Big tough guy taken out by a football? Pathetic, Bekker.’He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. Even in his own imagination, Alea was merciless.

But he was grateful for the reprieve today. The last thing he needed was her smirking at him while he tried not to wince in pain. He had enough on his plate with the upcoming match—no need to add bruised pride to the list.

Just as Aaron let himself relax, voices filtered in from the hallway, faint at first but growing clearer with every passing second. He could hear the familiar hum of conversations—players grumbling about sore muscles, trainers making notes—but one voice cut through the rest.

A voice he hadn’t heard in six years.

Aaron’s entire body stiffened, his heart faltering mid-beat. The voice was soft but distinct, carrying a warmth that stirred memories he thought he'd buried. It’s impossible, he told himself, his heart pounding faster. She’s not supposed to be here. She can’t be here.

His breath hitched in his throat, the tightness in his chest making it hard to move. The voices were getting closer now, each word like a step backward in time.

“Come on, Aaron’s in the medical room. Minor injury. We’ll need you.”

Aaron froze, gripping the edge of the treatment table so hard his knuckles went white. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. Then he heard it again—a name. His name, spoken in a voice that once whispered promises beneath starry skies, laughed at his dumb jokes, and broke into sobs the night they said goodbye.

“Aaron?"

That voice.

Layla.

The walls Aaron had so carefully built around his heart crumbled in an instant, leaving him exposed. A knot twisted deep in his chest, the ground beneath him seeming to shift, as if reality itself couldn’t catch up with the fact that she was here.

The door handle rattled.

Aaron held his breath, every muscle in his body coiled as tightly as a spring. The door creaked open slowly, and there she was—

Layla.

She looked almost the same, but with subtle changes that made his heart ache. Her dark hair was longer now, falling freely down her back, framing the curve of her face in a way that tugged at his memories. The furrow in her brow—one he used to love teasing her about—was still there, giving her that same thoughtful, determined look. But it was her eyes that undid him. Those deep, familiar eyes that had once held all his secrets, now gazed at him, stirring emotions he had no energy to face.

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the dull ache spreading through his head. His mind scrambled for control, but every coherent thought slipped away the moment their eyes met.

He looked down again, clenching his jaw. Of course, it had to be her.

The soft shuffle of her steps sent a wave of unease through him. She stopped close enough for him to catch the familiar scent of her—something subtle, comforting, and wholly Layla. It was enough to twist the knife lodged deep in his chest.

He kept his gaze lowered, jaw tight. Her presence was undoing him in ways he hadn’t prepared for, breaking through the emotional walls he thought were impenetrable.

Layla cleared her throat, fumbling slightly as she opened her medical kit. The soft clink of metal instruments inside echoed awkwardly in the quiet room.

Aaron’s chest tightened at her hesitation. She was nervous. He could tell by the way her hands trembled slightly as she reached for a towel. Even after all these years, she still had that way of making his defenses falter.

She stepped closer, her movements tentative, like someone approaching a wounded animal. Gently, she pressed the cool towel beneath his nose to clean the blood.

"Hold still," she murmured softly, her voice low, calm, and professional.

Aaron finally glanced up, his gaze locking with hers. In that moment, the air between them thickened with unspoken tension. Years of unresolved emotions, unsaid words, and shattered promises crashed down on them like waves against a fragile dam.

Her eyes searched his, and for a heartbeat, it felt as if time rewound—back to when things were simpler. Before everything between them had broken. But there was hesitation in her gaze now, as if she was trying to navigate the same storm of emotions that swirled inside him.

Aaron’s jaw clenched harder, and he looked away again, unable to hold her gaze any longer. The ache in his nose was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly, almost as if the words came out of habit.

He shook his head, pressing his lips into a tight line. "Not as much as other things," he thought bitterly but kept it to himself. The truth was too heavy to say aloud, and this wasn’t the time to unpack it.

Layla’s hand lingered for a second too long before she stepped back, creating a small but significant distance between them. The warmth of her presence faded slightly, replaced by an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“There, you’re all set,” she said with a forced brightness, though the edges of her voice wavered.

Aaron gave her a slight nod, still not trusting himself to say much. His silence was deliberate, a way to keep his emotions at bay.

She handed him a sheet with recovery instructions, her fingers brushing against his briefly. He felt it like a spark—small, but enough to remind him how close they once were. He barely glanced at the paper, shoving it into his pocket without a word.

The metal frame of the treatment table creaked as Aaron stood, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on him. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice low and strained, as if every syllable cost him more than he wanted to admit.

Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and walked toward the door. His footsteps echoed down the quiet hallway, but he could feel her gaze following him, lingering like a weight he couldn’t shake.

As he rounded the corner, Aaron exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his face. It wasn’t just the injury that left him drained—it was her.

After all these years, Layla still had the power to unravel him. And that scared him more than any injury ever could.