S.M. ✦ Gin & Juice

Epilogue: The Spring Game

"Come on, babe. We're almost there!" Caroline called from about fifteen feet ahead of you. You'd made it through the gate, through the small sea of people near the entrance, now you just had to make it up the ramp and into the special seats marked off for friends and family of team members. The stadium was so big. Ninety-five thousand regularly flocked in and out of the gates on a normal fall weekend. Thank God this was just the spring game.

You caught up with Caroline and drug your feet up the ramp still trailing behind her, while you thought back to a couple of days ago...

Dr. Michaels had suggested pre-planning where you would sit at the game. With as many variables as a situation like a live football game could have, she'd said in a session last week, knowing exactly where you were going and your physical surroundings could be beneficial. She had actually yelled all of this over the crowd noise she was pumping out of her office sound system to help you prepare for the sensory overload of a football game. It had been jarring and you'd needed a two hour nap afterward, but it helped to know what you were getting yourself into.

You showed up to the stadium after Shawn's practice a few days before the big event. He met you at the gate, insisting on helping you pick out the perfect seat. His hair was still damp from his post-practice shower, hanging in lifted tendrils across his forehead. You reached up to push some of them back and gave him a quick hello peck on his full lips.

"You ready?" he asked, a little pink clinging to his cheeks after your public affection. He was still getting used to you wanting to be seen with him in public, let alone kiss him.

He held your hand and walked you through the empty concrete maze, up the ramp to your section, and down to the bleacher seats that the tickets he'd given you would allow you to sit. It was technically a general admission but Shawn promised to reserve the seats you picked out before the game.

"Okay," he stopped at the third row and stayed right on the aisle, "so I thought about this for awhile after you told me you wanted to come see me play. I think right here," he stood right at the last seat of the aisle, "is perfect. It's far enough up for you to see over the players' heads and it's on an aisle so there's easy access in and out if you get overwhelmed." He looked down at you, his chest out. He was so proud of himself.

"Will you be able to see me?" You hopped up on top of the bleachers in front of the seat he'd picked out so you could look him in the eye. He brought his hands up around your waist and slowly turned you around, resting his head against your side. The massive field stretched out in front of you.

"You see that sideline over there?" Shawn pointed across the field and waited until he could feel you shaking your head, "I'll either be over there or on the field the whole time. If you stand on the bleachers like everyone else does, I'll be able to see you." You rested your arm around his neck and squeezed, skin against skin, letting the all the anxiety and words you weren't saying flow out of you, comforted by his solid presence.

You were both silent for awhile, looking out onto the field in the fading light. His breathing helped you focus, the slow inhales and exhales of a conditioned athlete. Your fingers grazed his collar bone underneath his shirt, his brushed your side delicately just above the waist of your jeans. The simple touches in the quiet moments were your secondary therapy, the blissful release of the anxiety that built up throughout the day.

"I'm excited to see you play," you scratched his scalp and he leaned into your hand, purring softly.

"You've been working on it in therapy? The noise?" He was so worried that this wasn't going to work, that your eagerness to see him play, to be a normal couple, would set your progress back.