One could consider you to be one of the luckiest and unluckiest people in the world. You were the luckiest because, in some miracle opportunity, you managed to snag friends that had connections in some pretty high places.

The MLB, to be specific.

You were the unluckiest because you simply couldn’t settle for just existing in a professional athletes social circle.

Miles G. Morales. One of the top performing Major League Baseball players of his generation and perhaps a man who would hit the history books sooner or later. A guy who managed to swing his way into the hall of fame the first year he was scouted, and whose potential only continued to get bigger with every season.

Apparently, one of your best friends was the girlfriend of one of his best friends, and by pure coincidence, you got dragged into a group larger than you liked to converse with.

That happened over two years ago, when Miles was still new in the baseball world and had only very recently been recruited to the Los Angeles Dodgers. You’d liked him the first day you met him, a decent amount of time before his debute in the multi-million dollar paying job.

But you were a coward and could never admit it to him. Especially not now, when it would seem like all you wanted was money or fame through his own. And that’s why, two years later, you’re sitting in the front row of a baseball game— Miles had given the whole group tickets, he did it for pretty much every game that was close to home—, watching as he warms up his swing on-deck.

Your friends were busy screaming at the top of their lungs; the guys telling him not to get cold feet and the girls simply yelling for him to do his best. You stayed quiet though. Too lost in your thoughts, as always. Too busy admiring every moving muscle of his to remind yourself of how rude it is to stare.