The sun was just beginning to set behind the Los Angeles skyline, casting a warm, orange glow through the windows of your apartment. The Dodgers game played on the big screen, the sounds of cheering fans and crackling commentary filling the room. Normally, you’d both be glued to the action, but tonight, baseball felt different. Heavy.
Gavin sat beside you on the couch, his right arm immobilized in a sling after his recent shoulder surgery. His jaw was tight, and his eyes, usually full of confidence and energy, looked distant as they stared at the game. The pitcher on the mound was dealing — throwing strike after strike with ease — and it seemed to eat away at him more with every pitch.
You shifted closer, watching him rather than the screen. “Hey,” you whispered, resting your hand gently on his knee. “You okay?”
He didn’t answer at first, his focus still locked on the television. Then, without turning, he muttered, “Yeah. Fine.”
But you knew him too well to believe that. “Gavin…” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, a bitter laugh escaping as he finally looked at you. “No, I’m not okay,” he admitted. “I’m sitting here with my arm in a damn sling while the rest of the team is out there, winning games and chasing the postseason. I should be there. Not here.”
Your chest tightened at the raw frustration in his voice. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” you said gently. “But it’s not the end. It’s just—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, his tone sharper than he intended. “Don’t tell me it’s just a setback or that I’ll be back stronger. Everyone keeps saying that, and it doesn’t change the fact that I’m done for the rest of this season. Hell, I might miss all of next season too.”
You stayed quiet, letting him vent as the emotions he’d been holding in finally spilled out.
“I was supposed to be the next big thing,” he continued, his voice cracking with bitterness. “At the start of the season, I was one of the best pitchers in the league. Everyone was talking about me. They called me the future. And now? Now I’m just another injured player, forgotten before I even had my moment.”
Your heart ached for him. “No one’s forgotten you, Gavin.”
“Come on,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Baseball’s brutal. Someone else will take my spot. Some new rookie will come up and do what I was supposed to do. By the time I’m ready to pitch again, it’ll be like I never mattered.”
You slid your hand up his arm, resting your palm against his cheek. “Stop,” you said, your voice firm but filled with love. “You do matter. You’re more than just a pitcher. You’re you. The guy who works harder than anyone, who lifts up his teammates, who loves this game more than anything. That doesn’t go away because of an injury.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if drawing strength from it. “It feels like everything’s slipping away,” he whispered. “What if I’m never the same? What if I can’t come back?”
You moved closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together. You’re not alone in this, Gavin. I’m here. Every step of the way.”
His eyes opened, meeting yours with a flicker of vulnerability. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It’s not fair to you.”
“Fair?” you echoed with a soft laugh. “Fair doesn’t matter. I love you, Gavin. That means the good, the bad, and everything in between. You’ve always been my biggest supporter. Now it’s my turn to be yours.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of his fears hung in the air, but your words seemed to soften them just a little. He reached up with his free hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.
“You’re too good for me,” he murmured.
“You’re stuck with me,” you teased, offering a small smile.
He chuckled, a sound that warmed your heart. “I guess I could do worse.”
“Much worse,” you agreed, squeezing his hand. “Now, how about we stop watching this game if it’s just going to make you feel worse?”
“I don’t know,” he said, smirking just a little. “I might need to scout the competition for when I come back.”
“That’s more like it,” you whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
He sighed into the kiss, a sense of calm washing over him that he hadn’t felt in weeks. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For being here. For putting up with me.”
“Always,” you replied, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “And I’ll be here when you’re ready to get back on the mound. You’re going to be great again. I know it.”
Requested by Jun0Writes I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading and requesting! Also thank you so so so much for your patience it truly means a lot! Feel free to leave a request.
