Eli and Marcus trudge side by side, sweat-damp hair clinging to their foreheads, wrestling shoes dangling from their bags. "My whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender," Eli groans, eyeing a patch of bruises blooming on his arm. "At least you didn’t have to wrestle Corey twice. He’s basically a bear," Marcus replies, a rueful grin pulling at his lips.

Eli pauses, tossing his bag onto a bench and stretching his sore arms overhead. "Wait up, man. You remember last week when Coach made us do sprints because of your 'accidental' trip?" "I still say it was strategic. Distract the enemy, right?" Eli retorts, grinning.

Marcus scuffs his sneakers against the mulch, hesitating before he speaks. "You ever get scared before a match? Like, not just nervous, but really scared?" "All the time. I just pretend I’m not so you don’t call me a wimp," Eli admits, his voice softer than before.

"I guess it’s easier when you know someone else feels the same," Marcus says, relief flickering across his face. "Next time, we’ll face it together. Even if we get flattened by Corey again," Eli laughs, the tension easing between them.

Eli shifts his bag, glancing over at his friend. "Race you to the corner?" "You’re on. Loser has to carry both bags tomorrow," Marcus calls, already breaking into a run, laughter trailing behind him.

"See you at practice, partner," "Wouldn’t miss it for the world," Eli replies, waving as they part ways, the bond of shared struggle and laughter carrying them home.