୧ 𝓐 ＬＥＪＡＮＤＲＯ ＢＡＬＤＥ

THE ARENA BUZZED, ALIVE WITH NEON LIGHTS AND THE ROAR OF THE CROWD. NEW YORK WRAPPED ITSELF AROUND YOU BOTH — too loud, too bright, too much — and yet, sitting there next to Alejandro, it all blurred into something softer.

His laugh cut through the chaos, warm and easy, the kind that always tugged at the corner of your mouth no matter how hard you tried not to smile. He leaned in, saying something about the Knicks’ defense, his shoulder brushing yours, and it lingered, just a second too long to be accidental.

Then the cheer swelled — louder, sharper — and the giant screen above flashed. The kiss cam.

At first, you froze. His face appeared beside yours, impossibly large, the two of you framed in a bubble of bright red hearts. The crowd started chanting, teasing, their voices pressing in from every angle.

You turned to him, nerves sparking like live wires, ready to laugh it off. But Alejandro didn’t move back. His eyes found yours — dark, steady, daring — and the playful edge you always danced around was suddenly gone.

“Guess we can’t disappoint them, no?” he murmured, his voice low enough to drown beneath the roar, meant only for you.

And then he leaned in. Not rushed, not hesitant. Just certain. The world shrank to the heat of his lips against yours, the softness of the moment, the way the crowd’s cheers blurred into a distant hum.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒