SIX WEEKS WITH HIM

Outside the room

I wasn’t supposed to see Lucas outside the physio room.

That was the rule I made for myself on day one. Keep it professional. Keep it contained. Keep it to 60 minutes, three times a week, inside Room 4B.

Day four broke that rule.

I was heading to the library after my last class when I heard shouting from the rugby field.

“Kimani! Get your ass up!”

I stopped.

Lucas was on the sidelines, no crutches, weight on his bad leg, arguing with Coach Okoth. His knee was braced, but he was standing on it. Standing too long.

“Coach, I can play,” Lucas said, voice tight.

“You can barely walk,” Coach shot back. “You’re benched until Dr. Onyango clears you. That’s final.”

Lucas shoved a water bottle off the bench. It hit the ground with a c***k.

I should have walked away.

Instead, I found myself walking toward him.

“Kimani,” I said before I thought it through. “You’re going to reinjure it.”

He turned, saw me, and his jaw clenched. “You’re not my physio right now.”

“Good,” I said. “Because as your physio, I’d tell you to sit down. As a person, I’m telling you the same thing.”

Coach Okoth glanced between us, then sighed. “Kip. Right? You’re his student physio?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Talk some sense into him. I’m done.”

Coach walked off, leaving us alone on the empty field. The sun was low, painting everything gold.

Lucas dropped onto the bench, not meeting my eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be standing,” I replied, sitting a meter away. Too close to be professional. Too far to be casual.

“I hate this,” he said suddenly. “Sitting here. Watching them practice. Knowing I should be out there.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your whole life be rugby. To have people look at you and only see Captain Kimani. What happens when Captain Kimani can’t play?”

“You’re still Lucas,” I said quietly.

He looked at me then. Really looked.

“Nobody’s ever said that to me,” he admitted.

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the intensity in his eyes. “Because nobody’s stupid enough to say it to you.”

That got a small huff of a laugh out of him.

We sat in silence for a while. The kind that didn’t feel awkward. The kind that felt… safe.

“You’re limping,” I said finally, noticing the way his weight shifted.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re swelling again.”

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.

“Can you… check it?” he asked, voice low. “Here? Before I go home?”

I hesitated. This was outside protocol. Outside the room, outside hours, outside the contract.

But the thought of him going home and icing it wrong, of him making it worse just to prove a point, made my chest tight.

“Fine,” I said. “But only because you’re being an idiot.”

He smirked. “Consistent as always, Kip.”

I knelt in front of him right there on the field, ignoring the grass stains I’d get. I rolled up his shorts carefully, checking the knee. Warmer than it should be. Slight swelling.

“You overdid it,” I said. “You need ice. Twenty minutes. Now.”

“I don’t have ice.”

“I do.” I stood up. “Come to the physio room. I’ll get you set up.”

His eyes flickered. “We’re not supposed to be there after hours.”

“Dr. Onyango gave me a key,” I said. “For emergencies. This counts.”

He studied me for a second, then nodded.

Walking back to Room 4B together felt different. Slower. Like we were both aware of every step, every accidental brush of shoulders.

Inside, I grabbed an ice pack and handed it to him.

“Hold it here,” I said, guiding his hand to his knee. My fingers brushed his for half a second.

He didn’t pull away.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I replied, trying to keep it light. “You still owe me a full session tomorrow.”

He leaned back against the bed, eyes on me.

“Kip,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“What happens in two weeks?”

The question hit me harder than I expected.

In two weeks, the contract ended. His rehab would be done enough for me to hand him back to the senior physio. We’d go back to being strangers. He’d go back to the field. I’d go back to being invisible.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly.

He nodded, like he’d expected that answer.

“Me neither,” he said.

The ice pack was getting too cold. I reached to adjust it, and my hand covered his.

He didn’t move.

“Kip,” he said again, my name sounding different on his lips.

“Lucas,” I said back, before I could stop myself.

For a second, I thought he’d lean forward.

The door slammed open.

Dr. Onyango stood there, eyes wide.

“Kip? What are you doing here after hours?”

I jerked my hand back like I’d been burned.

“Emergency check,” I said quickly, standing up. “He overextended on the field. I was just icing him.”

Dr. Onyango’s gaze shifted between us.

Lucas stayed quiet, face carefully blank.

“Alright,” Dr. Onyango said slowly. “Finish up. But Kip, we don’t do off-the-clock treatments. Understood?”

“Yes, Dr. Onyango.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

The room felt too small suddenly.

Lucas stood up, testing his weight on the leg.

“Guess that’s our answer,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“We keep it in the room,” he said. “For two weeks.”

I nodded, because what else could I say?

He walked to the door, paused, and looked back at me.

“See you tomorrow, Kip.”

“See you tomorrow, Lucas.”

After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time.

Two weeks.

It felt like both too long and not long enough.

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