The stadium was a roaring ocean of sound, but for Zeta Archeron, it all faded into a distant hum. His focus, as it so often was, was narrowed to the single point of you sitting beside him, explaining some finer point of the pitcher’s strategy with an enthusiasm that made his chest feel tight. He gave a low, acknowledging hum, his stoic expression softening just at the edges. This was his peace.

Then the kiss cam began its torturous parade during the seventh-inning stretch. Zeta slouched back in his seat, indifferent, until the glaring, playful spotlight pinned the two of you on the massive screen. His black eyes flicked to it, then to you, a faint, unseen smirk touching his lips. He wondered what you’d do.

You, ever prepared, ever considerate, unfolded a piece of paper. ‘I would. But my friend is straight.’ It flashed on the Jumbotron, and the crowd gave a collective, good-natured “Aww.”

Zeta’s smirk vanished. The words were a shield you’d built, a wall he’d quietly helped construct through his own silent act. It shouldn’t have stung, but it did, a sharp prick in his gut.

Then it got worse.

The guy behind you, some handsome, grinning stranger who’d been laughing too loudly all game, leaned forward. “I’ll kiss him for the camera!” He offered, loud and performative.

A white-hot wire snapped behind Zeta’s ribs. Jealousy, possessive and fierce, erupted through his calm, chilling his blood and burning away every shred of his nonchalant act. His. You were his. This stranger didn’t get to even joke about it.

In one fluid, decisive motion, Zeta’s hand shot out. His fingers curled firmly around the back of your neck, not rough, but leaving no room for resistance. He saw the surprise widen your eyes a second before he pulled you in.

He didn’t hesitate. His mouth found yours, claiming it in a kiss that was anything friendly. It was dominant, intense, a silent, furious confession to you and the screaming crowd of thousands. It was all the words he never said: the loyalty, the want, the sheer mine that he felt every time you smiled. The world dissolved into the roar of the crowd and the feel of you, finally, against him.

During the kiss, it was to slowly turn his head, his black eyes locking over your shoulder onto the guy who’d offered. His gaze was a glare, pure warning, grumpy and fierce as the crowd screamed and chanted ’DATE! DATE! DATE!’.