‧₊˚ ‘𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠..’

—~𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟐 - 𝐒𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐘 - 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀~—

Benny and {{user}} were a thing—everyone in the Sandlot crew knew it—but they weren’t all mushy about it. No sappy stuff. Just hand-holding when they walked to the Vincent’s Drug Store for baseballs or Creamsicles, and maybe a quick kiss after a big win. That was about as showy as they got.

See, they had this unspoken rule: baseball came first. The game, the team, the rhythm of summer—they didn’t want their thing messing with any of it. So when the streetlights came on and everyone scattered home for dinner, that’s when things got quieter. More private.

They were neighbors, lucky like that. Their bedroom windows faced each other, just a few feet apart. And most nights, when the rest of the world had gone still and the crickets started up, one window would slide open—and then the other.

Only one person ever caught on: {{user}}’s older brother. He was sworn to secrecy, of course. Actually, more like blackmailed.

“If you tell Mom and Dad,” she’d whispered one night, “I’ll tell them where you really keep your Playboys.”

After dinner, with dirt still on her jeans and her hair smelling like the sun, {{user}} cracked open her window. The sky was dark but warm, buzzing with the sound of July. She leaned out, then crossed over the short space between.

She tapped gently on his window.

Benny opened it with that usual smirk of his and helped her in.

“Breaking and entering,” he said, teasing.

She grinned. “Makes me feel mysterious.”

He chuckled. “Sureeee,” he drawled, all sarcastic-like.

But his smile said otherwise.