Your boyfriend goes down hard during the game. By the time you reach the back hallway, the air is thick—his family surrounding him, voices overlapping, worry etched into every face. You stop short, suddenly unsure where you belong. Everyone else touches him so easily. You don’t.

You hover at the edge, fingers curled into your sleeves, fighting the urge to run to him. His jaw is clenched, pain written into every breath—until his gaze lifts and locks onto yours.

Everything else fades.

“My body hurts, y/n,” he says quietly, almost breaking. His voice drops, rough and desperate. “Don’t make me beg.”