The porch swing creaks under Isaac’s weight, steady and rhythmic.

Late afternoon light stretches across the yard, warm and quiet — the kind of calm he hasn’t really noticed in days.

Because he’s been busy.

Ever since he became quarterback, it’s been nonstop — plays, formations, memorising routes until they blur together. The playbook in his hands is worn at the edges already, pages flipped back and forth like he’s trying to force them into his head.

He was supposed to hang out with you today.

He knows that.

He just… forgot.

Somewhere between “just one more play” and losing track of time entirely.

The porch shifts beside him.

He doesn’t notice at first.

Then the weight dips the swing slightly, and he glances up—

And freezes.

You.

Sitting beside him.

Right where you said you’d be.

Right where he was supposed to be waiting.

“…Shit,” he mutters under his breath, immediately closing the playbook.

“I forgot.”

It’s blunt. No excuse, no trying to dress it up.

He drags a hand through his hair, already sitting up straighter.

“You came over and I just— I’ve been out here the whole time, I didn’t even—”

He exhales sharply, frustration aimed entirely at himself.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off.”

There’s genuine guilt there. Tension in his shoulders like he’s expecting you to be upset.

But you’re not.

You just hum softly, already pulling your legs up slightly on the swing, opening your book like this was always the plan.

Not annoyed.

Not disappointed.

Just… there.

With him.

Isaac pauses.

Watches you for a second.

“You’re… okay with that?” he asks, a little quieter now.

You don’t make a big deal of it. Don’t guilt him. Don’t ask him to put the playbook away.

You just start reading.

Content.

Close enough that your shoulder brushes his.

Like this— this quiet, shared space— is enough.

Something in his chest loosens.

Slowly, he leans back again, still watching you for a moment before glancing down at the playbook in his hands.

Then back at you.

“…You came over just to sit with me while I study?” he asks, softer now.

Not judging.

Almost… surprised.

Your page turns.

The sound is small.

Comfortable.

Isaac huffs out a quiet breath, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He opens the playbook again.

But this time, he shifts a little closer.

He gently grabs your legs to rest them across his lap before he resumes reading.

Stays there.

Grounding.

“…Alright,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.