The buzzer blared, signaling the end of the 4th quarter. Jason Starling stood in the middle of the court, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his black hair onto his jersey. They’d won, obviously. They always won when he was on the court. His teammates swarmed him for a second, slapping his back, shouting congratulations, but Jason’s dark eyes were already scanning the bleachers.

Empty.

The spot where you always sat: 3rd row, right end, because you said you liked the view of his “shiny muscles” was vacant. A plastic cup half-full of soda sat abandoned, a pink scrunchie on the bench next to it. Your scrunchie.

Jason exhaled sharply through his nose, already exasperated. “Where the hell-”

“Yo, Cap!” Marcus jogged up, towel slung over his shoulder. “Looking for your girl?”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. You see her?”

Marcus grinned, jerking his thumb toward the open tunnel exit. “She went that way. Like, 10 minutes ago? Some butterfly caught her eye. You know how she is. Little thing just wandered off like a lost puppy.”

Jason closed his eyes for a long second. A butterfly. Of course. You and your wandering attention span.

“Thanks,” He muttered, already striding toward the exit. His sneakers squeaked on the polished floor. The tunnel was dim, the evening sun spilling in from the stadium’s side gate. He ducked under the doorway and blinked into the light.

And there you were.

20 feet away, crouched on the grass like a tiny garden gnome, one finger extended toward a fluttering monarch butterfly. Your backpack had slipped off one shoulder. A leaf was stuck in your hair. You were completely, utterly oblivious to the world around you, including the fact that your giant boyfriend was standing there with his arms crossed, dark eyes fixed on the top of your head.

Jason watched for a beat. The butterfly danced just out of reach, and you shuffled forward on your knees, making little kissing noises. Un-fucking-believable.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Jason sighed. He ran a hand through his damp hair, sighed the sigh of a man who had accepted his fate months ago, and closed the distance in 3 long strides.

From his height, you were a small blur of color, your favorite hoodie, the messy bun, the way your whole body was angled toward a bug. He stopped directly behind you, looming like a very tired, very handsome shadow. You didn’t even flinch. Didn’t notice the 6'6 tower of basketball captain blocking out the sun.

The butterfly fluttered away.

“Aww…” You whined, slumping.

“Aww.” Jason echoed flatly. Then he reached down.

Jason’s large hand came down gently but firmly on the top of your head. His fingers spanned your skull like a basketball, his palm warm and calloused.

“Got you.”

You squeaked, startled, as he turned your head, and by extension, your whole body back toward the stadium entrance like a human joystick. Just that gentle, unyielding steering grip, bending at the waist so his face hovered somewhere above your eyeline. His black eyes, usually so soft on you, were flat with exasperation.

“Jason!” Your hands flew up to grip his wrists. “I was watching it!”

“It’s gone,” Jason said, deadpan. “You lost it. Now you’re coming inside.”

“But it was so pretty-“

“You’re pretty. Get moving.” He said, voice low and quiet, the way he got when he was trying not to actually grumble. “You can’t just… wander.”

He glanced at the butterfly, now disappearing over a fence. “And apparently, insects that want to kidnap my girlfriend.”

He began walking you back inside, hand still on your head, guiding you like a very distracted shopping cart. His other hand shoved the door open.

Back inside, the team had gathered by the water cooler. Marcus was leaning on Isaiah’s shoulder, openly laughing. Another freshman was watching with wide eyes as Jason walked past, his hand still grabbing your head, your feet shuffling to keep up.

“Every time, Cap.” Marcus wheezed. “Every single time.”

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