How many rigorous sports does a person, an ambitious one, should stick to exactly? mumbled I.
Came into this sports club with a friend, dragged out of bed, not a single sip of coffee on my way here. Just wanted to sweat and push the YOLO out of me. I looked around and these guys were shouting gibberish. “Fuck how have I allowed myself around these nuts on a Wednesday afternoon?” asked I full with self-doubt.
“just follow me and you’ll get the hang of it. sure you’ll like it,” this wicked dear friend of mine whispering as the coach walked in. And the upbeat music started buzzing loud. Everyone was psyched but me. Someone punch me please.
Five minutes into the warm-up I was already loathing everyone’s existence in this arena who smelled like half-baked garlic bread. My every brain cell fuming to tell me how I’d hate this sport.
“you have a good build, this must be nothing for you,” some familiar-looking stranger being nice to me. “heh-heh, I’m barely keeping up and it’s my first”.
We coupled up for a few parts during workout session, in some of which I caught those stares. And I…..knew that look.
We grabbed coffee at a nearby cafe afterwards along with mutuals. Some guy came and you two shared an intimate hug. you hugged as you stole a few looks towards me. Now puzzles were complete.
Next thing I knew we found ourselves exchanging texts and memes and how weird it feels when we didn’t text.
—
On one random evening I was on the quest of fixing my mood swings through this sport. So I went. But I realised you didn’t come you did not feel well. My impulse that day led me to your door, to the room, to your everything that felt like a safe space somehow. I sat on the couch and confided in you on things, rambling on this horribly beautiful, unfair life.
Since then. I loved this life a little more despite my hate towards this sport remaining constant. Yet there I was, training regularly. Like all the tricks we pulled from the playbook, all the arranged schedules were meant for me to see you. In sessions. Before. After. Between cancelled classes. We even had our spots around these nearby cafes where you would share your dirty secrets the way I had. People we hated. No you did not hate people, I did. The struggles I’d gotten so comfortable of sharing with you. How days went so fucked and yet you came through.
“I‘ve never felt this happy with someone at least not in the last decade,” you gazed into my eyes. “You certainly know how to make many people blushed dont you,” you then sipped on that sea salt coffee.
“You seem just as happy with your boyfriend.”
“Well yeah but it’s different. You hit quite the right spot there or you’re just naturally seductive ha ha,” you’re shy laughing shy. “I often think about you more than you might know you have no clue.”
Quick pause. Then I left for a toilet break.
“Sorry didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I like what we have is all,” you resumed the paused convo.
—
15 classes, 100 iced lattes later. 4 parties later.
There were trips planned among the workout club members. You’re excited and passive aggressively insisted that I went on one. So I did.
You and your boyfriend, me, my friend, and plenty others I had to be fun around for the next 48 hours. There were moments you caught me smoking alone and asked if I enjoyed the outing (whatever they called the thing). “Of course I did,” I reassured, with a tiny smile.
On our way back from the trip, I gave you a lift home because it was on my way. Upon your boyfriend’s approval of course.
You broke the silence in the car, “you know I dreamed about you. This isn’t the first time. I’m nervous to even share this with you.”
You hesitated to continue. I tried to not hurt the excitement,”what did I do exactly in that dream? Did I take you to where you’ve never been before?”
You were suddenly breathing fast and heavy. Looked at me like I was your next biggest sin. Our hands were slowly moving crossing boundaries. I paused as if to ask you and you okayed my movement.
I pulled over, leaning towards you and I could just hear the heart pumping hard. I asked, “you sure,” and you started to kiss me. I could sense your fears and anxiety running through the roof then. You went wild but then I got even wilder. These hands of yours actively finding their way onto my pants as I kissed you hard. Then gently I went down on you. You moaned my name trying to catch some breath.
Time went fast and slow all at once. Then the oxytocin party was over. I snapped myself out of everything and sent you home.
—
4pm the next day. You did not text. Nor did you show up at the session. So I went home from the class.
Night went by. I enjoyed my tiktoks until your name appears on my phone. At last huh.
“I hope you’d still talk to me after last night. I hate myself,” your text began.
“Of course I would. I warned us about this but it’s really just a time bomb before it explodes.”
“I have been replaying all these unreal images of you in my head, imagining you all day I cannot focus, I’m losing myself it’s bad. Why me? You could have anyone in this world I don’t get it.”
I took a really long pause. Figuring it all out myself fighting the moral dilemma.
Then I mustered the courage to respond with tricks from the playbook like,”it was a mistake. Shouldn’t happen again Im sorry I allowed it all happen. Lets not ruin what we have built with this.”
“ok.”
—
Few classes skipped. No more iced lattes.
I was fighting the guilt crawling back onto me each night. Your texts have piled up, to which I responded zero. You said it made you sad not to see me in classes for two weeks. And that I had changed. I had gone cold. I, in one hand, did not know how to navigate us around these uncharted waters.
Despite the signals, you showed up at my place unannounced. The lengths you went to prove something to me was immaculate. My walls were broken again.
I then welcomed the gesture. Then it turned me into a boy again. The rude boy who saw no limits of actions. The boy you told me you’d fantasized. I let it get the best of me. At that heated moment, was living for these moans I could not put myself to stop.
Then the party’s over again. you went home to your boyfriend. And I’m back to my lines of self-questioning.
—
Three months, I thought.
Little did I know you put me in a war with myself. since that night in the car, we had sneaked into parking lots, did things we’re not proud of, quick testosterone fixes for me. Just because.
Because we slipped into this war zone too fast. We acted hastily and were confused.
I had grown a little quiet the more I reflected on everything. It pissed you off. The many times you confronted me about avoiding you. About not meeting you emotionally at the depths you needed me to be. About you dropping everything in the busy world of yours to try to see me. That I stopped making as much effort as I used to.
The great urge for me to press backwards to those times before we turned into this. There was no going back. Knew the risk but never seemed to learn. just skipping one bullet after another.
There was no win in this chapter of ours. I wanted you to win as much as I needed to win. You’ve carried us through the hard waters. Your incomparable niceties and everything that I may never be.
You had found a home you’d been returning to. You should come home. Let me send us home.
—
If one day you find yourself missing me, we’re forever in each other’s deepest thoughts. The way I long for the innocent eyes in those rush hours you let me touch you in the past version of me.
I will learn and get better at pretending. At avoiding your eyes everytime we lock eyes. At loving from afar. At trying not to break down. At forgiving myself. At making peace with it all. At forgetting the little details. And at picking the better sports.
I’ve tried many other sports. And I’ve learned this ain’t mine.
*the end*
Notes from writer: sorry if I seem MIA for months on this front. I miss writing especially these mini fictions. Come back for more – I promise. Cheers and hugs.
Muhammad Carlos 
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