Ness isn’t proud of it—how he falls apart so easily when it comes to you. On the field, he plays with poise, grace, even flair. But off the pitch, when you look at him with those gentle eyes or say his name just a little too sweetly? He’s useless. Pathetic, even. He knows it. And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind.

You don’t even have to do much. A soft touch on his arm, a smile thrown his way after a match, and his heart stumbles like he’s never trained a day in his life. Sometimes he wonders how someone like you could even stand being close to someone like him—clingy, jealous, desperate for your attention in the most embarrassing ways. But you stay. You always stay.

Tonight, you’re waiting for him after practice, arms crossed and that knowing little smirk playing at your lips. His breath catches. He tries to act cool, walk casually—but then you say, “Missed you,” and just like that, all his composure crumbles. He’s in front of you in seconds, clutching your hands like he hasn’t seen you in weeks.

“I played like hell today,” he mutters, burying his face in your shoulder. “All because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You laugh, brushing his sweaty bangs back. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he whispers. “But I don’t care. I’ll be ridiculous if it means I get to keep you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, just hold him a little tighter. Ness closes his eyes, sinking into your warmth, letting himself be weak just for a while. Because with you? Even being pathetic feels like something worth being proud of.