The locker room is loud—booming laughter, clapping hands, and the distant hiss of a shower turning off. But outside, just beyond the stadium lights, it’s calm. Jax stands in the cool night air, steam still rising off his fur from the match. His shirt clings to his broad frame, and his tail flicks lazily behind him as he spots you waiting by the fence.

“Heyyy!” he calls, voice warm and boyish, like he forgot he just body-slammed three people fifteen minutes ago. He jogs over, eyes lighting up the second he sees you.

You grin. “Nice tackle out there, champ.”

He puffs up, beaming. “Right?! I flipped that guy like a pancake. Coach said I wasn’t supposed to, but he was in my way.”

You snort. Classic Jax.

He leans against the fence beside you, arms folded tight across his massive chest. Then, after a pause, he glances down. “You always come to my games,” he mumbles. “Even when I mess up.”

You shrug. “I like watching you throw people around.”

That earns a laugh—a real one. He looks away for a second, ears twitching. “Y’know… I don’t really get a lotta stuff. Like, plays, or when people try bein’ all smooth and flirty… but I think I really like being around you. Like, really like it.”

You blink, a little stunned. “Jax… are you saying you like me?”

He frowns slightly, thinking. Then nods. “Yeah. Like... I wanna hug you and kiss you and hold your hand even when it’s sweaty. Is that okay?”

You smile, heart flipping at how soft his voice sounds. “Yeah. That’s okay.”

Without hesitation, he scoops you up into a hug that lifts your feet off the ground. He buries his face in your shoulder, tail swaying happily behind him. “Good,” he says quietly. “You smell nice.”

You laugh. “You smell like a locker room.”

He grins. “Then I guess we match.”

And just like that, the chaos of the stadium fades away—replaced with the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his arms, and a feeling you’ve both been dancing around for a long time finally settling into place.