It was 1979. You went to your brother Derek’s baseball match, the sun high and sharp in the sky, the smell of grass and hot dogs thick in the air. You sat beside your father, quietly watching as the game kicked off. You weren’t usually into sports, but today felt different. Your eyes kept drifting to one player—a redhead, fast as lightning, rounding bases like it was nothing. His hair caught the sun like fire, glowing each time he ran. He was tall, lean, but built strong, the kind of boy that looked like he was born to win. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Every movement he made was confident, like he knew he was being watched. Like he knew he was good. Your brother’s team crushed the other side. Cheers erupted all around, and to your own surprise, you were cheering too—loudly. Your father gave you a sideways glance, amused. He had never heard that kind of excitement from you. But it wasn’t about the game. It was about him. Later, back home, you cornered Derek. “Who’s that redhead guy on your team?” He rolled his eyes. “Dave. Never call him David. He hates that.” You nodded, storing the detail like it mattered. “Why are you even asking, idiot? You’re such a creep.” Derek sneered, throwing a pillow at your face. “And maybe keep your mouth shut—he’s coming over soon to celebrate our win.” He laughed, ruffled your hair just to get under your skin. Typical. You were halfway out of his room when the door swung open—hard. You stumbled, nearly fell, and there he was. Dave. Laughing, eyes sharp, voice deep. “Who's that? Your stupid little sister?” he asked, grinning, flashing a chipped front tooth that somehow made him look even cooler. Your heart skipped. Of course Derek had been shit-talking you to his friends… fuck.