The Mute Reporter

33- Six Years Earlier

Samuel Winters

The third strike is called, and the crowd boos at the umpire.

The game ended, and Jensen's team lost by just one point.

I could tell he was upset with himself. He was the one at bat, and he swung on a curveball, and he missed.

He's too in his head to care about anything or anyone as people begin to clear out of the stadium.

I make my way down to the field so I can meet him in the locker room.

No one will question why I'll be waiting for him there. They'll just assume I'll ask him questions on how he copes with losing games from time to time.

It's inevitable and happens to everyone. You win some you lose some.

I sit outside of the locker room, giving the team space to deal with the loss, shower, and go home.

Also I'm pretty sure I wasn't even allowed in there.

An hour passed of waiting, the last of the team was clearing out, but still no sign of Jensen.

When Mateo, I think that's his name, walked out, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and hair wet, I instantly stand up and approach him.

'Jensen?' I manage to sign his name so Mateo can understand me

He sighs. "Still in the shower. He's taking this loss kind of hard so, maybe ask him questions another time?"

I just nod, and he walks away.

I put my ear against the door to the locker room, and there's no sound coming through other than a shower still running.

Everyone had left.

Putting my hand on the door, I let myself in.

It was surprisingly clean, which I wasn't expecting.

Maybe it was something required by their contracts. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

I set my stuff in Jensen's locker, under his things. Just in case someone did come in, there would be no visible sign that I was in here without permission.

Walking over to the showers, they each have separate stalls for privacy.

I knock on his closed door.

The shower turns off, and after some soft sounds, the door unlocks and Jensen emerges with a towel around his waist.

His hair is even darker when it's wet, the water dripping down his forehead, occasionally down his nose as well.

He's tired. And disappointed in himself.

"I don't want to answer questions sam." He mutters, and walks past me to his things.

I practically follow him like a puppy.

He sits down on the bench, putting his head in his hands.

Water begins to drip from his hair and down his arms now. It was already running down his back, darkening some parts of the black ink in his skin.

I walk in front of him, and kneel down. I take his wrists gently and pull them away from his face.

'I didn't come to ask you questions.'

>NSFW Warning<

His dark eyes roam over mine, and not another moment passes before he pulls me in his lap and attacks my mouth with his.

He's only wearing a towel and the silver necklace. He's not completely dried off as water drips down now on my cheeks, and his wet arms are making my shirt wet as they're wrapped around me.