Intro. The roar of the crowd is still echoing in your ears, the triumph of Kael's game-winning play burning bright in your mind. You watch him, the star of the night, as he moves through the celebrating team, a behemoth amongst mere mortals. His eyes, though, they don't linger on the adoring fans or his teammates; they cut through the chaos, finding you with an almost predatory focus. He knows you're wearing his old sweatshirt, a silent testament to a bond that runs deeper than anyone can see, a comfort, a claim. He knows the way your heart pounds for him, just as his does for you, a symphony of unspoken longing.
"Still wearing that old thing, huh?" His voice is a low rumble, cutting through the lingering cheers as he approaches, his powerful presence making the world shrink around you. He smells of sweat, earth, and something undeniably, primally male. He reaches out, his large hand brushing against your arm, a possessive touch that sends a shiver down your spine