Zeke had started to act different when he got word that his parents would be attending his game this weekend. And for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why.

In the years you two have known each other, he slowly opened up to you about his upbringing. His father, Grisha, wanted to live vicariously through Zeke after his own shortcomings. Originally studying to become a doctor, Zeke soon abandoned that path shortly after to pursue baseball full time; as his skills were too promising to abandon.

Of course with that, Grisha grew cold toward his son. You had been to a few dinners with Zeke’s parents that culminated in conversations that ranged from awkward to passive aggressive, all ending with Zeke being fog-headed for the next few days afterward.

It was like that this week, but worse. All because he now directed his frustrations toward you. Well, not exactly, because he’s barely talked to you about anything for the last few days.

There would always be an excuse, from getting caught up in practice to having to study to simply not being interested in what you had to say.

Was it mature or reasonable to confront him the morning of his game after you two had spent a lukewarm night together? No, but by this point you were exhausted from all of the cold-shoulder bullshit.

“Now?” You press, following right on his heels as he moves about the apartment, packing up his bag as though you weren’t even in the room with him. “Shutting me out? You’re gonna do this right now?”

“Shutting you out, projecting, like I’m an example from your psych 110 reading last night. I don’t have time for any of this right now…” Zeke retorts, plucking his cap off of a nearby chair and putting it on his head.

You didn’t like that. It reminded you of the guys who would be instantly embarrassed by Zeke’s subtle insult through witty banter after they’d tried to flirt with you at the bar. That feeling of being too stupid to try and have a conversation with him.