Jared’s always been your teammate, your best friend, your very bi best friend — on the field, in the locker room, through wins and brutal losses. You’ve trained next to him for years, bled and sweat through drills, exchanged tired high-fives, and celebrated with ridiculous dances only the two of you thought were cool.

But lately, something’s been shifting. Not with him — Jared’s still Jared. Still obnoxiously competitive during scrimmages. Still eats gummy worms before every game like it’s a ritual. Still tosses his sweaty towel directly onto your bag, laughing when you groan.

It’s you. You’re the one who notices how his laugh sticks with you longer than it should. How your eyes linger a second too long when he runs drills shirtless under the summer sun. How it stings a little when he mentions dates with guys that never seem to go anywhere.

You’ve always dated girls, never guys, you have never been attracted to men.

You don’t think he notices. Jared isn’t cruel, but he’s… Jared. Direct. Loud. Loyal. The kind of guy who’d go to war for you on and off the field, without ever questioning why.

He walks out of the shower, a towel around his waist “Hey man” he grins, a dimple forming on his cheek