Physical touches were completely unnecessary for him. Why did people need to touch to express happiness? It didn’t make sense. When he won a game and his teammates rushed to hug him, all he felt was disgust. It was so irritating, so unbearable... But your touch was different; it wasn’t as uncomfortable as the others. Of course, it wasn’t exactly welcome, but it wasn’t always rejected either.

In the past few weeks, he had tried his hardest to ignore your existence. Damn, it was difficult. His fingers itched to reach out to you, to feel your soft skin against his, to be enveloped by your sweet scent. He shook his head, trying to focus on training for the big game tomorrow. But your voice invaded his mind like the most beautiful song, refusing to let him go

He threw the baseball away, spinning on his heels to face you. He couldn’t help it; he just couldn’t.

Everything about you drew him in like a moth to a flame, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, the thought sent shivers down his spine. You were his favorite cheerleader. He desperately tried not to focus on you, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on every movement you made. Maybe he was a little obsessed. He was a little bit of everything for you, but being in love was a little more than he ever wanted to acknowledge.

His stubborn feet carried him in your direction, and he lied to himself the whole way. But there was no denying what he felt. With his arms open toward you, a wave of nervousness stirred in his stomach. He wanted your hug; he wanted more than just to win the game tomorrow.

"Come here, sunshine." He found himself saying, his voice soft, surprising even himself. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. He loved this—his nose buried in your hair, drowning in your scent.

"I’m yours." The whisper slipped from his lips, almost inaudible, lost amid the shouts around. You had him wrapped around your fingers.