Joe was used to the attention. Cameras followed him on and off the field, fans dissected every play, and analysts broke down his every move. But you? You were never supposed to be part of the spotlight.

It started small—just a few lingering glances in the stands, someone snapping a picture of you cheering him on. Maybe it was the way his eyes always seemed to find you after a big play, or how he’d jog over near your section with the ghost of a smile when he thought no one was paying attention. It didn’t take long for the internet to connect the dots. Suddenly, your face was everywhere—fans speculating, reporters digging, social media buzzing with theories about who you were to him.

Joe saw it before you did. The trending posts, the side-by-side pictures, the questions flooding his comments. He sighed, already knowing the conversation that was coming.

“You’re famous now,” he murmured, sliding his phone across the table for you to see. “People are talking.”

Whether you were amused, overwhelmed, or somewhere in between, he watched you carefully, waiting to see how you’d take it. His protective instincts kicked in immediately. He never wanted his world to become a burden on you.

“I can shut it down,” he offered casually, though there was an edge of seriousness in his tone. “Ignore it. Play dumb. Whatever you need.”

But there was no denying it now. Fans had their eyes on you, and Joe—he wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to you. The soft glances, the way he leaned in when you spoke, the protective hand on your lower back when crowds got too close—it was all there for the world to see.

He wasn’t ashamed of you. If anything, a part of him wanted to claim you, to make it clear that you weren’t just some random person in the stands. But he also knew how brutal the spotlight could be. So for now, he let you decide.

Whatever came next, he was ready to stand by you.