I stared at the Cambridge Dictionary's definition of the word 'boyfriend'. It would appear that Luca and I, despite what he said, were in fact, boyfriends.

I placed my phone on the mattress, pulling the pillow closer to my chest and leaning against it, seeking Luca's warmth as I pressed into his chest. And even though every part of me wanted to lie there beside him, I knew I couldn't. I glanced at the large mirror behind us, watching the way the soft dawn light reflected on its shiny surface. 

I forced myself to get up and make my way to the bathroom, trying not to study the dark circles under my eyes too much. I paused for a second, leaning against the sink as the pleasant, throbbing ache between my legs that had never quite left since last night made itself known again. It radiated to my lower back, forcing me to acknowledge the depth of Luca and my relationship. 

I had barely slept for three hours, which was less than half my optimum sleep time. It would be quite a challenge to maintain my focus at training that morning. Regardless, last night more than made up for the sleep deprivation.

I leaned towards the sink to study the dark bruises on my neck and chest. Bite marks, suction marks, all standing in stark contrast against my pale skin. Heat rose up my cheeks, and I quickly turned away, taking a quick shower before heading out. Luca was still fast asleep, his back to me, rising and falling gently.

Boyfriend.

The word tasted odd on my tongue.

I had never had a boyfriend. I had never really cared for it.

But now, it felt like something I wanted. Everything I wanted.

I tore my gaze away from Luca and wandered into the kitchen. The soft dawn light crept through the windows, illuminating the polished wooden kitchen. It was minimalistic but tastefully decorated. I remembered the first night I had been here, the first night he had kissed me. The first night I had ever kissed anyone. I placed my hands on the counter, my knees weak from the onslaught of emotions and physical evidence of my feelings. I didn't know what to do with either of them. 

I had just finished brewing the coffee when I felt a presence behind me, and a second later, he hugged me from behind. I leaned into him, shutting my eyes in comforting bliss as he kissed the top of my head, his lips moving. The rumble against his chest told me he was speaking.

"Good morning," I responded, figuring that was what he was saying.

He turned me around, his lips finding mine in a tender kiss. "I am glad you are here," he said, caressing my hair before disentangling himself from my arms to sit on the stool in front of the counter.

I poured the coffee into two cups and brought them over, placing one in front of him and the other across from him, where I sat. We remained silent for a few minutes as I gazed out at the Milan sky slowly getting a soft wash of white.

I felt a soft vibration on the countertop and turned to see Luca tapping his fingers against it, his eyes fixed on me.

"Where is your training?" he asked, taking a sip of the coffee.

"Stafford," I responded. "I will leave around eight. I should... be there before lunch."

"You'll be missing the morning training?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded. "It is fine. What about you?"

"Florence," he responded, tapping his hand again on the countertop even though I was already looking at him. "I'll leave around seven, I think. Will take two hours by Central."

I nodded and took another sip of coffee. He got to his feet, making his way to the kitchen stove. "Let me make you some quick breakfast."

I shook my head. "I will grab something at the airport. Do not worry about it."

"It's not an issue. Let me make you some oatmeal. I'll pack them if you would rather carry it."

"Okay. Thank you," I responded.

He smirked slightly. "You don't have to thank me. Just give me five minutes."

I finished the rest of my coffee before going back into the bedroom to retrieve my phone. My mum had sent me a few texts over the night, nothing major—just updates about her new movie schedule and asking me about my travel to Staffordshire.

"Here—" Luca said, placing a neatly packed lunch box on the table in front of me. He looked down, chewing on his bottom lip before looking back at me. "Eat it soon, okay? I put some fruit in there too."

I nodded and took the lunch box, resting it on my thighs, which still felt rather weak. Although I wasn't sure if it was the hectic travel yesterday or whatever transpired after that. "Okay."

He walked over to the refrigerator, returning a few seconds later and placing a familiar boxed orange juice in front of me. "Take that too."

It was the sugar-free, all-natural orange juice I preferred. The one I had been drinking since childhood. My heart seemed to burst without any plausible explanation other than gratefulness. I took it and shoved it into my pocket quietly, my throat too full to speak.

I had had people do things for me my entire life. Servants, chefs, waiters, drivers, my own teammates who would often do things for me that they did not need to do. My mum told me it was because they wanted something from me, which did not make sense, since I did not provide anything except my analysis. But then, when I did provide my analysis, it was mostly met with scowls.

So why was Luca offering me something that I liked—?

"Elliot," he said as I looked up at him. "So um... how are we going to do this?"

"Do what?" I frowned at him.

"This—" he pointed at the empty space between us. "With the training and all. We go against each other on the international stage in a few months."

"I do not understand," I said.

He sighed softly before pulling out a chair beside me and sitting on it, his elbows on the counter. "You would... like to see me?"

I nodded fervently.

"I would like to see you too," he said. "But since we have to be... discreet about it, let's keep it at your place or mine. Preferably mine, because yours is too publicly known."

"Okay." I refrained from asking him what the 'it' in 'keeping it' meant. From context clues, I figured it referred to sex.

"Maybe alternate weekends?" he offered. "Or if we have any days off by chance."

"Are we planning... sex?" I asked finally.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "We can have sex—"

"I would love to have sex," I nodded.

He snorted, laughing before he continued, "—but I don't just mean that. We can just talk or hang out."

"So, just company," I clarified.

"That too."

"Sex and company," I nodded, finally understanding.

He chuckled. "That sounds very corporate."

"I do not understand," I repeated.

He smiled, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "It's okay," he said, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand before leaning back. "We also can't... be going out and stuff. At least not just the two of us. If it's with the Ambrosiana boys—" he nodded at his jersey that was hanging on a shelf behind him "—I think it would be more suspicious if we weren't spotted together."

"And—" he stuttered, biting his lower lip and looking away from me. He was gripping the counter hard, his knuckles pale from the sheer force of it. His shoulders were tense; he was hesitating to say something.

"What?" I asked, placing a hand on his thigh. "Speak to me."

He sighed before looking at me. "So... we won't be... seeing anyone else... during this time."

"Was that a question?" I blinked.

He shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee before answering me. "A discussion."

"The discussion being... exclusivity?" I inquired.

"I suppose," he answered.

"I believe it would be... prudent to remain exclusive," I said.

"Right," he said. "Especially due to sex being involved, and the fact that we have to play on the international stage. STDs and all."

"Oh," I frowned at him. "I must admit the thought did not cross my mind, but you are correct."

"It didn't? Really?" He raised an eyebrow. "What did cross your mind?"

"The idea of you being naked and sweaty with another person is... highly disconcerting," I admitted, the words themselves making my stomach hollow out in an instant. "So I believe it would be best to avoid it."

"Oh, I don't know," he grinned at me, his eyes sparkling. "I reckon I would like to see a jealous Elliot Hayes."

"I... did feel jealousy, I believe—" I said, recalling the previous night at his apartment. "The first time you brought me to your apartment. Seeing how close you were to Chiara. She even—" I tapped my cheek to demonstrate "—kissed you goodbye. I catalogued but did not understand it then."

"Yeah, we are close friends," he said.

"Friends you have previously had sexual relations with," I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, but it wasn't, like, romantic or anything. We were just friends with benefits," he said.

"All friends provide benefits, in one way or another," I said. "Does that mean you occasionally sleep with Fernandez and Santoro?"

He burst out laughing. I had apparently cracked a joke.

"No, you doof," he shook his head.

"You mean that... affectionately," I concluded.

"Yes," he said, reaching out to squeeze my hand. "Of course."

"Am I your friend then?" I asked. "Or... are we romantic?"

"We... are two people—" he started slowly, "—who genuinely care a lot about each other, have phenomenal sex, and will compete on the international stage in a few months."

"So we are not friends, nor romantic," I stated.

"It's... it's not an easy definition, Elliot," he said. "But to circle back to your previous point—yes, we are most certainly exclusive."

Despite the chilly winds blowing in through the window, I felt a warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. "That is comforting."

"Let me drop you," he said as my phone alarm buzzed. "Come on."

"It is okay," I told him, getting to my feet and following him to the front door. He gripped the handle of my luggage and turned to me. I spoke again, "I will get a cab. You need to leave soon anyway."

He rolled his eyes. "Come on already, your flight's in an hour; you told me last night."

Last night. The memories of last night flashed into my mind again.

"Oh, also, uh—" he reached over to gently stroke my sweatshirt collar, a soft pink flush rising on his cheeks. "You might want to wear something underneath your jersey."

"Hm?" I placed a hand on his, trying to decipher what he was talking about before he leaned in and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I had to grip onto his shoulders to keep standing, his hot, eager mouth sucking at a spot at the base of my throat as I let out a surprised gasp, suddenly dizzy.

He leaned back, his lips glistening. "You might want to cover those up," he said softly. "Unless you want to come up with a story."

"Mosquitoes," I responded immediately.

He chuckled, tilting his head and planting a soft kiss on my lips. "That's an endearing name."

"Oh. If you want, I can call you Mosquito. Mosy for short," I stated.

He laughed openly then, kissing me again. "You're a fucking idiot."

I pouted, although I was now aware he meant it affectionately. But I enjoyed the way the smile slid off his face, his eyes widening immediately.

"No," I said solemnly. "You're the fucking idiot."

"Your idiot," he said, leaning in to kiss me again. And I wondered if that was something I had misheard, whether he'd meant for the apostrophe to be there, but it wasn't. But when his tongue snaked out to entangle with mine, all coherent thoughts dissolved in a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

So...they have planned to keep their relationship a secret. Nothing can go wrong...of course. Ha...ha...haa....
Also, y'all are TOUGH on the top man pls