"I am okay," Alex said, wincing as he sat at his locker. "I am... stable."
Bastian almost smiled. "No. You are not a duck. You are not a traffic cone. You are... a small rock."
Alex felt a huge surge of pride. A small rock. From Bastian, that was a medal.
"You too," Alex said. "You were a big rock."
Bastian just grunted and drank his coffee.
The room slowly filled. Harry, the captain, walked in. He was limping too.
"Morning, lads," Harry groaned, sitting down very slowly. "I feel... old. I feel like I was hit by a bus. A very muddy, very angry bus."
Antoine walked in. He looked... perfect. As always. But Alex could see it. He was also limping. Just a little.
"This," Antoine said to the room, "was not football. That was... farming. I have mud in places I did not know I had."
The team just laughed. It was a tired, happy, sore laugh. They had survived. They had won a street fight.
