Wish You'd Met Me First (boyxboy)

Chapter 1: A Little Bit Jealous

A/N: Please bare with the football crap I made. I promise you it's worth it, drama and all.

The sun's setting. The air's filled with the sounds of pads crashing, grunts, and Coach barking orders from the sidelines. I should be focused on my routes, but my mind's somewhere else, stuck on what happened earlier in the cafeteria.

Focus, Aiden. Now's not the time to get distracted, I tell myself, sprinting downfield. But no matter how hard I push, my head's still full of Brett. And Blaine. And the way they walked in, hand in hand, my fucking mind can't seem to quit it.

Coach blows the whistle for a break, and we all gather around for water. Some guys drop onto the grass, stretching out; others are chugging from their bottles, sweat dripping off their faces. I grab mine and take a long sip, trying to cool down, trying to clear my head.

"Hey, Brooks! Nice catch on that last play," someone calls out. I glance over and see Alec or Alex, one of the newer guys, giving me a thumbs-up.

"Thanks," I say, keeping my tone casual.

Brett's just a few feet away, wiping sweat from his forehead as he heads for the water cooler. He's been the center of attention all practice—like always, but today, it's different. It's not just about his throws or his leadership. Everyone's still buzzing about what went down at lunch, even me.

"Neumann! Over here!" Coach yells, waving him over.

Brett jogs over, and I feel this weird mix of relief and disappointment. Relief because now I don't have to look at him. Disappointment because... well, because I don't get to look at him. God, what's wrong with me?

As Brett talks with Coach, Jake finally sidles up next to me, breaking the silence he's been carrying all afternoon. He's been unusually quiet, which is never a good sign.

"Guess Neumann's got more on his mind than just the game," Jake mutters, loud enough for everyone near to hear. There's this smirk tugging on his lips, like he's waiting for some reaction.

I can feel this surge of protectiveness bubbling up, but I keep my voice steady. 

"He's still our quarterback, Jake. Cut him some slack."

Jake turns to me, that smirk widening.

"Didn't know you were his defender now, Brooks," he taunts, leaning in a little closer.

I don't give him the satisfaction of a response. I just take another gulp of water, and look somewhere pleasing rather than his face. Why do I care so much? Why am I always this tuned in when it comes to Brett?

Coach blows the whistle again, and we all hustle back to our positions. Practice resumes, and I try to bury myself in the game. Focus on the drills. Focus on the plays.

During one play, Brett throws a pass that's a little off, and I have to stretch to catch it. I barely manage to pull it in, but I do, and when I look up, Brett's grinning at me from across the field.

"Good hands, Brooks!" he shouts, still smiling.

"Thanks, Neumann!" I call back, feeling this weird warmth in me. It's just a compliment. No big deal. But damn... why does it feel like more?

As practice winds down, Coach gathers us all in for his usual end-of-day pep talk. 

"Alright, listen up! This team is about unity. About being there for each other. On and off the field. Got it?" His eyes linger on Brett for a second before sweeping over the rest of us.

"Got it," we all echo back, though some voices are quieter than others.

Coach dismisses us, and most of the guys start heading for the locker room. I linger for a second, watching Brett as he walks over to talk to Blaine, who's been hanging out on the sidelines, waiting for him. They're standing close, laughing about something, and I can't help but feel this weird twist in my gut. I'm happy for them. I should be happy for them. Right?