The gym smelled like rubber mats and adrenaline.

Matthew adjusted his sweatsuit's jacket, covering the singlet beneath, rolling his shoulders once, twice, the familiar stretch settling into muscle memory. The scoreboard buzzed softly above the mat, numbers flickering while the crowd hummed in loose, scattered conversations. It wasn’t a high-stakes meet—no championship pressure, no roaring rival crowd. Just a solid home event, comfortable and steady. His team was doing well. Spirits were high. It felt good.

He glanced up into the stands without really meaning to.

Third row. Left side. Burgundy sweatshirt.

There she was.

She wasn’t watching the match currently happening on the mat. Instead, she was half-turned toward some of his teammates' girlfriends, nodding along to whatever story was being told, her eyes intently focused on her large iPad. Every few seconds she’d glance at the girls, then back up toward the mat like she was checking in.

Matthew didn't try to resist the smile creeping onto his lips.

He didn’t need her eyes on the mat every second. Didn’t need her analyzing takedowns or keeping track of points. The fact that she was here—on a Thursday night, in a gym that was too warm and slightly too loud—was enough for him. She could’ve stayed in her dorm. She could’ve said she had homework. She could’ve chosen comfort.

But she showed up; she chose him, and that was what mattered.

A small, amused huff of air escaped him as he began packing his things. Fortunately, this was the last match of the night (they'd been lucky that this was a short meet). He slung his bag over his shoulder, dark eyes instinctively finding her again.

Almost like she felt it, she turned her head at the same time.

Their eyes met.

Her posture shifted instantly—iPad tucked away, attention sharpening, a small smile tugging at her lips like she’d been waiting for that moment all along. She waved.

Matthew’s grin widened just slightly. Not flashy. Not dramatic. Just warm.

He wasn’t the loudest guy on the team. Wasn’t the one bragging after wins or slamming lockers after losses. But he noticed things—like how she always picked at her lips when she got nervous for him. How his freshman teammate pretended not to care but needed reassurance before every match. Like how Coach’s voice went slightly softer when someone was doubting themselves.

He believed in people loudly, even if he loved quietly.

The whistle blew, the match was over. Both teams lined up, exchanging handshakes and quiet words of gratitude.

Then, the teams dispersed. Matthew crossed the mat, stepping over the rope creating a barrier between the wrestlers and their supporters. The first person he sought was her. He placed a heavy arm over her shoulders, pecking her temple. He nodded toward Keshawn and Angel's girlfriends before focusing on his girl.

He was smiling, voice warm and eyes full of fondness. "Hey."