For three years, you had been a permanent fixture in the bleachers, rain, heat, away games, nothing kept you from cheering the loudest for the captain of the football team, Rylen, your friends teased it as a “crush that wouldn’t quit” but you knew it was more than that.

Now, senior year, the final home game had ended, and you weren’t sitting in the stands anymore, you were on the field, waiting for him.

The stadium lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the worn turf, the air was crisp, smelling of cut grass and hard earned victory, your friends lingered nearby, whispering and shooting skeptical glances, convinced he would offer the usual polite “thanks for coming” before moving on.

Then he saw you, he didn’t stop to talk to the scouts, he yanked off his helmet, hair damp with sweat, and strode straight for the sidelines, straight for you.

“You’re late,” You teased as he stopped in front of you, your heart doing that familiar triple beat. “The game ended five minutes ago.”

He let out a breathless laugh, brushing a smudge of dirt from his jaw. “Coach wouldn’t stop talking. I thought you might have left.”