for the love of the game
word count: 730
warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking.
The frat house is already too loud by the time you get there.
Music thumping through the walls, bass vibrating under your shoes, the front yard packed with people holding red cups and shouting over each other. You follow your friend group through the crowd, laughing when someone bumps into you, already mentally clocking that this is probably not the night you’re gonna remember clearly.
You’d almost stayed in.
Almost.
You’d stared at your tiny dorm closet for way too long, told yourself you’d stay in, told yourself you had an early morning. But then your phone buzzed, your friend so very convincing, You’d given in. Thrown on a cute top, glossed your lips, told yourself one drink max and suddenly you were here, clutching a cup you didn’t really want, trying to be relaxed.
You’re halfway through scanning the room when you see him.
Your stomach drops.
Ian’s standing near the edge of the living room, talking to a couple guys you vaguely recognize from the team. Hoodie, backwards hat, relaxed posture, his self confidence inherently loud. Your brain stutters.
QB1.
You’d been calling him that as a joke in your head ever since the beginning of the season when your friend teased you about being nervous for your first meeting. It felt safer that way. Easier to keep things compartmentalized.
You weren’t supposed to see him like this.
Not outside practice. Not outside your notes app and calendar reminders and carefully worded texts.
He hadn't seen you yet.
You take a step back, angling yourself behind your friend like a human shield. Your heart is beating way too loud for someone who is supposed to be casually at a party. You pretend to be very invested in your drink, even though you’re pretty sure it’s mostly melted ice at this point.
You sneak a glance.
Bad idea.
He looks up.
Your eyes meet.
And you can tell immediately, he recognizes you.
There’s a pause. Not awkward, not dramatic. Just long enough for something to register behind his eyes. Surprise, maybe even Curiosity.
His conversation stalls. One of the guys pats him on the shoulder, keeps talking, but Ian’s attention is already gone.
He starts toward you.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. Just… direct.
You brace yourself without realizing it.
“Hey,” he says, calm, sending your nervous system into a spiral.
“Hey,” you reply, a beat too late. Your voice cracks. You clear your throat. “Hi.”
Great. Really nailed that.
He looks amused. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
You shrug too fast, lifting your cup. “Yeah. I—uh—me neither.”
That earns a small smile. Your friend clocks the situation immediately. Her eyes flick between the two of you, widening just a little. She leans in close to your ear.
“Is that him?” she yells over the music.
You nod.
She gives you a look and then, mercifully, disappears back into the crowd.
Ian watches her go, shifting his weight, hands in his pockets, giving you just enough space that it doesn’t feel like pressure, but close enough that you’re very aware of him. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Just… wasn’t expecting to run into you like this.”
“Same,” he admits.
There’s a pause, not uncomfortable but sort of awkward.
You can practically feel tomorrow hovering between you, the meeting, the professionalism, the careful distance you’re supposed to keep. You clutch your cup a little tighter like it’ll ground you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says eventually.
You nod, relieved. “Yeah. Three thirty.”
“Three thirty,” he repeats, like he’s committing it to memory again. eyes steady on yours. He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “Be safe tonight.”
Your chest does that annoying thing it does when you’re really anxious
“You too.”
For a second, it feels like he might say more.
He doesn’t.
He steps back, slipping easily into the crowd again, swallowed by noise and bodies and music.
You stand there for a moment, staring at the space he left behind.
Your friend emerges back in the space ian was just in, “he’s so sexy. I just know hes evil as fuck.”
You laugh at her and take a sip of your drink
Across the room, Ian glances over his shoulder once, catching sight of you again, still standing exactly where he left you, cheeks warm, eyes wide like you’re processing a minor emotional earthquake.
He looks away before you notice.
youruser posted on their story!
a/n: i lowk made up a frat name.. yikes.
i tried something new with my theme and i think it looks so cutetastic. i am such a sports nerd so i was really excited to write this. i was thinking of turning this into a series but i wanted to see how this one did before i continued.
love ya lots!