Adrien winced, watching Greg getting up from the ground.
"Yeah. That's probably going to hurt tomorrow."
Yet despite all that brutality, there was something infectious about the atmosphere.
Every successful tackle.
Every turnover.
Every line break.
The entire team reacted together.
And when Greg's club finally scored what turned out to be the decisive try, the stadium exploded.
The score wasn't huge, but it was enough.
Rennes pushed desperately during the final minutes.
Then the whistle blew.
Match over.
Victory!
The reaction on the field was immediate: players shouted, some threw their arms into the air, others hugged, a few simply collapsed onto the grass, exhausted.
Greg ended up in the middle of a cluster of teammates pounding each other on the back. His face was bright red. Sweat soaked through his jersey.
And he was smiling.
A real smile.
Wide.
I don't think I'd ever seen him look that happy.
"Wow," I muttered.
Adrien followed my gaze.
"Yeah."
There was something unexpectedly moving about it.
For weeks I'd mostly known Greg through the apartment. Through late-night conversations. Through his absurd appetite. Through the way he occupied space like a walking mountain.
But standing there among his teammates, celebrating with them, he suddenly made more sense.
This wasn't just a hobby.
This was where he belonged.
The bruises.
The training.
The strict diet he had to follow.
All of it led to moments like this.
Eventually players began drifting toward friends and family gathered near the barriers.
I spotted Greg almost immediately.
Or rather, he spotted us.
His eyes found ours across the crowd.
And that huge smile appeared again.
"There he is," I said.
Adrien laughed.
Greg raised one arm high above his head and waved.
Then both Adrien and I started clapping.
Not because we felt obligated.
But because we were genuinely proud of him.
Greg's chest visibly swelled when he saw us applauding.
The grin somehow grew even wider.
And as he jogged toward the barriers to join us, still glowing with victory, I found myself understanding something important.
Maybe Greg didn't come here because he liked hurting people, but because this was one of the few places where everything inside him finally had somewhere to go.
And the guy had a lot to unpack.
- - -
The final whistle had blown several minutes ago, but the stadium still hummed with leftover energy.
Players were drifting toward the changing rooms in clusters, laughing, shoving one another, replaying key moments from the match with exaggerated gestures. The crowd was thinning too, spectators filing out through the concrete walkways while scraps of conversation floated through the afternoon air.
I was watching Greg.
More specifically, I was watching the way he walked.
Anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed it.
The rugby guy still had that same broad grin plastered across his face. He was exchanging handshakes, slapping teammates on the shoulder, nodding to supporters. But every few steps there was a slight hitch in his movement. A tiny hesitation when he put weight on his right side.
The collision.
I couldn't stop thinking about it.
That Rennes player had hit him like a truck.
No—worse.
Like a second Greg!
I'd seen the shock on his face afterward. Seen the air leave his lungs. Seen him stay on the ground just a little too long.
And now he was acting as if nothing had happened.
Typical.
"He's limping."
Adrien glanced toward the field where Greg was disappearing beneath the stands.
"Very slightly."
"Still."
"Steph."
"What?"
Adrien sighed:
"He finished the match."
"That doesn't mean he's okay."
Adrien gave me a tired little smile.
"You worry too much."
"Says the neurologist who spent days barricaded in his room."
"Fair."
I pointed toward the tunnel.
"See?"
Greg had disappeared inside:
"I'm gonna check on him."
Adrien didn't even look surprised.
"Of course you are."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you're physically incapable of not taking care of people."
I rolled my eyes.
Adrien laughed softly for what felt like the first time in ages.
The sound alone made the afternoon feel lighter.
He slipped both hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"I'll wait outside."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
He nodded toward the main exit.
"Fresh air."
I studied him for a moment.
He looked tired.
Still fragile.
But not broken.
Not like this morning.
That alone felt like a victory.
"Alright."
I bumped my shoulder lightly against his.
"See you later then."
"For Julien's concert."
"For Julien's concert."
A small silence.
Then I smirked.
"And if Greg's missing a kidney or something, I'll let you know."
Adrien snorted.
"See you later, doc."
"Later."
I gave him a little wave and headed toward the restricted area beneath the stands.
- - -
The atmosphere changed immediately.
The bright afternoon sunlight disappeared behind concrete corridors and metal beams. The sounds became louder but more enclosed: echoing voices, bursts of laughter, lockers slamming shut.
And the smell.
God.
The smell.
Sweat. Almost agressively present.
Grass too. Fresh. Maybe mud?
Wet fabric. The unmistakable scent of twenty-plus rugby players who had just spent eighty minutes trying to run through one another.
All that mixed together.
It hit me before I even reached the changing-room area.
I ran past a couple of players that were carrying kit bags bigger than suitcases. Further down the corridor I spotted Greg, still standing, surrounded by his teammates.
Still very much alive.
The giant was leaning against a bench near the entrance to the locker room, one arm draped across the shoulders of a smaller teammate while he retold some moment from the match. The group around him burst into laughter.
His chest hair was damp with sweat.
His jersey were down the floor. There was dirt smeared across one side of his neck and despite the obvious exhaustion in his posture, he looked happier than I had ever seen him.
The real kind.
Then his gaze lifted.
Found me.
- - -
The moment Greg spotted my shy presence, he immediately peeled away from his teammates.
"Oh there he is!"
I barely had time to register the words before the giant rugby player closed the distance.
"Greg..."
Too late.
His naked and big arms wrapped around me like a pair of hydraulic presses.
"OOF!"
My feet left the ground. Completely. The next thing I knew, the world was spinning.
The locker room ceiling, the benches, the players, theb the ceiling again.
"Greg!"
The idiot had picked me up as if I weighed absolutely nothing.
His laugh boomed through the room.
"We won!"
"Yes, I noticed!"
"Tradition!"
"What tradition?!"
Instead of answering, he lifted me even higher.
My stomach dropped.
I wasn't particularly afraid of heights.
I was afraid of Greg. His power.
I knew how hard he could fuck his girl... and me!
"PUTAIN, BIG G, poor guy !" somebody shouted.
The entire locker room burst out laughing.
"He's gonna crush through the cieling!"
"He weighs like fifty kilos, leave him alone!"
"I'm not fifty kilos!"
Nobody listened.
Greg looked ridiculously proud, like a child showing off a trophy.
"This is Steph!"
The announcement echoed through the changing room.
A few players immediately started cheering.
"STEPH !"
"Well done!"
"That's our bro!"
"MERCI STEPH !"
"What did I do?!"
Greg tightened his grip around my waist.
"This fucker helped me so much."
I blinked.
Helped him?
A couple players immediately started nodding.
"Really?"
"That's the roomie!"
"Must be him!"
"Mad respect bro."
The encouragement only got louder.
Someone whistled. Other started shouting. I had absolutely no idea what was happening anymore. Meanwhile Greg carried me halfway around the locker room like some kind of bizarre victory mascot.
My face was burning. The smell of sweat, mud and damp jerseys surrounded me. The noise, the shouting, the laughter. Everything felt overwhelming and weirdly warm. Like I had somehow been adopted by an entire rugby team.
"Greg, put me down!"
The giant laughed.
Then suddenly his smile twitched:
Just for a second.
A tiny wince.
A flash of pain.
I saw it!
Only because I was looking directly at him.
And before anyone else could notice, he carefully lowered me back onto the floor. SLowly, like I was made of glass.
The contrast was almost comical.
One second I was airborne, the next he was setting me down with the caution of someone placing a fragile vase on a shelf.
"There."
I steadied myself.
My legs felt strange.
"Jesus Christ."
More laughter erupted around us.
"He's all pale!"
"You broke your roomie, Greg."
"Not yet."
The rugby player snorted. Then I saw my bald roomie rubbing the side of his ribs, very briefly.
My concern returned.
"Greg."
"Hm?"
"You okay?"
His eyes flickered away.
Not a great sign.
"Sure."
"Greg."
"Sure enough."
The answer was accompanied by a shrug.
I folded my arms.
"You got absolutely demolished."
The surrounding players immediately reacted:
"Ooooooh."
"He's right."
"Guys, I'm fine," Greg muttered.
One teammate pointed across the room:
"Greg's tougher than any of you. He's Indestructible."
The conversation somehow moved on without concern.
I wasn't convinced.
He had his right arm against his ribs in a curious and suspicious way. Clearly hiding something from me.
"Show me."
Greg looked at me:
"What?"
"Your side."
His expression immediately became defensive:
"Nope."
"Show me."
"It's nothing."
"Greg."
A few teammates had started paying attention now.
The giant sighed dramatically.
Then another player slapped him on the shoulder.
"Show him."
"You afraid?"
"Never."
"Come on Big G."
Big G?
I guess his team also called him like that then.
"See? They understand." I insisted.
Greg groaned:
"Traitors."
Still, after a moment, he lifted his arm and turned to me.
The locker room immediately quieted around us.
I stared.
"Greg..."
The bruise was ugly: dark purple already spreading beneath the skin. It wrapped around part of his lower ribs and side. Not enormous but it seemed deep
My stomach tightened:
"Looks bad."
The rugby player glanced down then shrugged:
"Nah."
"Greg."
Several teammates immediately joined the discussion.
"I'd say it looks good."
"Nice color man."
"Piece of art."
The locker room exploded with laughter.
Even Greg grinned.
"See?"
He gestured toward them:
"Professional opinions. I'm fine."
"You're all idiots."
"Correct." They all answered together as one.
"It's okay, Steph." His voice was calmer now, more genuine. "Seriously."
He even tapped his side:
"Looks worse than it is."
"Doesn't feel worse than it looks?"
"Okay."
Despite the limp. Despite the obvious pain he was trying to hide. I believed him that time.
Not that he wasn't hurt. He clearly was. But that he was okay and that his team was keeping an eye in this.
In this strange rugby-player way of defining the word. Which apparently involved getting flattened by another human being and then celebrating it afterward and treating bruises as art pieces!
- - -
The laughter eventually died down.
Not completely (no chance of that happening in a rugby locker room), but enough that conversations broke into smaller groups. Some players had already started changing. Others were busy reliving key moments of the match for the tenth time, each retelling somehow making the tackle bigger, the sprint longer, and the opposition uglier.
Greg had settled onto a bench now, a bottle of water in one hand.
I was still eyeing his ribs.
He caught me doing it:
"Stop looking at it."
"I'm not."
The giant rolled his eyes.
Then I remembered something:
"Oh right."
"What?"
"Julien's concert."
That immediately got his attention:
"What about it?"
"You coming tonight?"
A grin returned instantly.
"Of course."
There was no hesitation there.
"Got tickets with the boys."
One of his teammates immediately pointed at him:
"He's been talking about it all week."
"Shut up."
"You have."
"Shut up man."
The others laughed.
I smiled.
Somehow that felt reassuring.
For all his grumbling, Greg genuinely seemed excited to his friend play with his band.
"Good."
I nodded.
"Then we'll see you there."
"We?"
"Me and Adrien."
The change was subtle.
So subtle that I almost missed it.
Almost.
Greg's smile faltered, not completely but just enough: his eyes shifted away for a second and the confidence disappeared, replaced by something much less familiar.
Uncertainty.
"Oh."
The response came out quieter.
"Okay."
Just okay.
Not enthusiasm.
Okay.
There it is again.
That weird feeling.
Something beneath the surface.
Something nobody seemed willing to explain.
I waited.
Half expecting Greg to add something.
He didn't.
Instead he rubbed the back of his neck and looked toward the floor, then finally forced a smile back onto his face.
"See you then."
The awkwardness lingered for another second and Greg stood up.
Well.
Mostly stood up.
The bruise clearly reminded him of its existence:
"Anyway. You should get going."
"Throwing me out already?"
"Absolutely. I'm craving a good shower. Unless you wanna see our team in full action, bitch?"
And with that, my rugger roomie got to fetch a towell in his bag and left me there, speechless.
I laughed.
"Thanks."
I blinked, not sure to understand.
"For what?"
"For coming you dumbo."
"Yeah..."
Then I stepped backward toward the corridor.
"See you tonight."
"See ya boy."
I gave the room one final wave and a chorus of goodbyes answered immediately:
"Salut Steph !"
"See ya at the show!"
"Yeah!"
"Look he's all red for Greg."
"Wooo."
"He's in love."
"Ah shut up, fucker." Greg shouted.
More laughter.
Then I escaped before they found another reason to keep me there.
- - -
The stadium corridors felt quieter now, the adrenaline of the match had faded and most spectators had already left. By the time I emerged outside into the afternoon sunlight, the air felt strangely cool against my skin.
I squinted.
Scanning the area. Looking for Adrien. He'd said he'd wait near the entrance, shouldn't be hard to find.
Right?
Tall. Dark curls, tired expression.
Easy.
Except...
He wasn't there.
I frowned.
Maybe he'd moved.
I walked a little farther: still nothing.
A small knot formed in my stomach. A strange feeling.
I stopped walking and looked around: there were families leaving, players' relatives chatting and cars passing nearby. Nothing unusual and yet... Something felt off.
I turned slowly, searching the crowd again but he was nowhere. My phone stayed silent in my pocket. No messages. ormissed calls.
Twenty minutes earlier he'd been sitting beside me.
Smiling and talking. Trying to fit. Now he had simply... vanished?
A gust of wind swept through the plaza in front of the stadium.
I glanced toward the main exit one more time, still no sign of him. Something was wrong again. I could feel it.
I just had no idea what.
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