Wish You'd Met Me First (boyxboy)

Chapter 3: Meeting The Lover

A/N: Blaine's picture above, while waiting for Brett near the bleachers.

The sun's hanging low as practice winds down, the usual energy buzzing through the team. Guys are still hyped, throwing out the same trash talk as always. I'm running through my warm-ups, trying to stay focused, but my eyes keep drifting over to Brett. He's over there with Coach, looking confident as ever, even with the whole staring and whispering thing going on.

Drills start, and I fall into the rhythm—run, catch, run again. It's good to move, to push my body and keep my mind off... other things. But every few minutes, I find myself glancing over at Brett again. He's all in, calling plays, leading the team. Of course he is.

Eventually, during one of the passing drills, we end up on the same side of the field. Brett's calling the shots, and I can feel the guys watching us a little more closely than usual. Maybe it's because of yesterday, or maybe it's because they saw us talking before practice. Either way, I'm trying not to think too hard about it.

"Brooks, you're up!" Brett calls, giving me a quick look before turning his attention back to the play.

I nod, locking in. The play starts, and I take off. Brett drops back, and—no surprise—throws a perfect spiral. I push myself, stretching out just in time to snag the catch. The guys shout in approval, and I jog back to the line, trying not to let my heart hammer out of my chest. From the pass, obviously. Not anything else.

Brett gives me a nod when I hand the ball back. His face is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or something else I'm probably overthinking.

"Nice catch," he says.

"Thanks," I reply, keeping it casual. Even though my heart's still racing, I play it cool. No big deal, right?

We move on to the next drill, but every now and then, I catch Brett in his zone—focused, serious. Leading the team like he always does. It's hard not to feel proud being out here with him. But then I remind myself to keep things buried. Deep down. Where they belong.

After a while, Coach blows the whistle, calling us in. Usual post-practice pep talk—focus, big game, blah blah. I try to listen, but I can't shake this weird feeling in my gut.

"Good work today, Ravens," Coach says. "Keep that energy, and we'll crush it on Friday."

The team breaks, everyone heading toward the locker room, still amped up. I'm about to follow when I spot something near the bleachers.

It's Blaine.

He's just standing there, watching us—or more specifically, watching Brett—with this small smile on his face. He looks kinda out of place, but there's something soft in his expression. Almost... fond. I glance over at Brett, and yeah, he's noticed Blaine too. And suddenly, Brett's face changes. That tension he always carries? Gone. His whole face lights up like someone just hit a switch.

Brett starts walking over to Blaine, and I hang back. No need to get in the middle of that. But a few of the guys are noticing too, whispering, trading glances. I can't help but wonder if any of them are thinking what I am. What's so special about Blaine?

Brett reaches him, and they exchange a few words I can't hear. Blaine says something that makes Brett laugh—a real laugh, not the usual half-smile he gives everyone else. It's... different. Relaxed. Carefree. I'm not used to seeing him like that. And honestly? It kind of messes with me.

I turn to head for the locker room, figuring I'll give them their space. But just as I'm about to leave, Brett calls out.

"Brooks! You heading out?"