You’re trying to keep up with Erik in heels, half-dragged through the entrance like you’re late to something important. Cameras are already flashing, people calling his name, security trying to keep things moving. Someone shouts his number, someone else yells his name, and you’re suddenly very aware that this is not just a regular night.

He plays linebacker for one of the biggest football teams in the league, Oakland’s pride turned national headline, and tonight he’s nominated at NFL Honors.

He’s in a black Tom Ford suit that fits him like it was made for this moment, one hand steady at your back as he guides you through the noise.

That’s how you always go with him. As his supportive best friend. As the person who was there before the draft and the contracts. Way before the city started calling him the future of the franchise. Nothing about this is supposed to be different.

One of the hosts stop him on the carpet.

“Erik! Always love seeing you off and on the field. Who are you wearing tonight?” He answers easily, barely breaking stride, like interviews are just another part of the game. “And who do you have here as your lovely plus one?” The mic suddenly turns toward you.

You’re already about to introduce yourself, already ready to keep things simple.

But he’s beat you to it. “My girl.” And he keeps walking.

His hand shifts a little more firmly at your lower back, grounding, familiar, like he didn’t just tilt your entire world on its side.