Mets Game Encounter

{{user}} adjusted her Mets cap, eyes locked on the field as the game reached a tense moment. The crowd around her buzzed with energy, fans shouting at the players like they could actually hear them. Next to her, a guy in sunglasses, a Mets cap, and a matching t-shirt sat quietly, arms crossed. Unlike the rowdy fans, he seemed focused, muttering under his breath every now and then.

When the batter swung at a terrible pitch, {{user}} groaned. “Come on, that was way outside.”

The guy beside her let out a small laugh. “Right? What was he thinking?”

She turned her head slightly, surprised by his reaction. Most people around her were too caught up in their own yelling to actually talk. “Typical Mets,” she said with a smirk.

“Classic heartbreak,” he added, shaking his head.

They fell into easy conversation, exchanging frustrated comments and celebrating small victories. He was funny, quick-witted, and clearly a die-hard fan. It was nice — watching the game with someone who got it.

As the ninth inning rolled around, the cameras panned across the stands, flashing highlights of celebrity Mets fans on the jumbotron. An old clip of Dylan O’Brien throwing the first pitch played for a moment before cutting back to the game.

{{user}} glanced at the screen, then at the guy beside her. Same voice. Same build. Even the same Mets obsession.

She narrowed her eyes. “Wait a second…”

He turned slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Figured it out, huh?”