it’s okay, we’re still here (I)
Sarah Strong x team manager!reader
It doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens in small moments.
Glances that linger a second too long.
Hands that almost brush but don’t.
Laughs that feel a little too careful around certain teammates.
You notice it with Sarah.
You always do.
Because part of your job as team manager is noticing everything.
But this?
This feels different.
It starts after practice one night.
Everyone’s loud, sweaty, talking over each other as they pack up.
Sarah is slower than usual.
Quieter.
You walk over with her water bottle and sit it next to her bag.
“You good?” you ask gently.
She nods too fast.
“Yeah, just tired.”
But she doesn’t move.
Doesn’t leave.
Just sits there like she’s thinking too hard.
You sit beside her instead of pushing.
Let the silence breathe.
After a minute, she finally speaks.
“…can I ask you something?”
You glance at her.
“Always.”
Her fingers pick at the tape on her wrist.
Not looking at you.
“…what if people look at you differently after they know something about you?”
You pause.
Then soften immediately.
“Depends what it is.”
That makes her let out a small, nervous breath.
“I just…” she stops, shakes her head a little. “I don’t know if I’m ready for everyone to know things about me.”
Ah.
You understand now.
Or at least parts of it.
You don’t push.
Don’t rush her.
Just nod slowly.
“That’s okay.”
She finally looks at you.
Like she wasn’t expecting that answer.
You shrug slightly.
“You don’t owe anyone everything about you all at once, Sar.”
That earns you a small, tight smile.
But it doesn’t fully reach her eyes.
⸻
It gets worse before it gets better.
A few days later, you notice her pulling away more.
Not from everyone.
Just from certain conversations.
From moments where people joke too freely.
Where the topic shifts into things she doesn’t feel safe in yet.
And it hits you all at once.
She’s scared.
Not of you.
Not of the team.
But of the idea of being seen too fully.
And it hurts more than you expect it to.
Because Sarah isn’t just your teammate.
She’s your person.
Even if neither of you have said that out loud.
So when she avoids you after practice one day, something in your chest tightens.
You catch her at the door of the locker room.
“Hey.”
She stops.
Doesn’t turn fully.
“Hey.”
There’s distance there.
Not physical.
Emotional.
And you don’t like it.
“You’ve been kinda quiet,” you say carefully.
“I’m always quiet,” she replies lightly, but it’s fake.
You see right through it.
“Not like this.”
Silence.
Then she finally looks at you.
And she looks tired.
“I don’t want to make things weird.”
That stings.
You blink.
“Weird how?”
She hesitates.
Like she regrets saying anything at all.
“I just don’t want people to start asking questions… or assuming things… or treating me different.”
You swallow.
“Oh.”
That’s all you say at first.
Because you need a second.
Not because you’re mad.
But because you didn’t realize how much you were hoping she trusted you with this already.
You step back slightly.
“Okay.”
She looks up at you quickly.
That wasn’t the reaction she expected.
But you don’t say anything else.
Just nod once.
Then walk past her.
⸻
It’s not anger.
It’s hurt.
Quiet hurt.
The kind that sits in your chest all day and makes everything feel a little heavier.
Sarah notices.
Of course she does.
Because she always notices you too.
She finds you later that night outside, sitting on the steps.
You hear her before you see her.
“Hey…”
You don’t look up right away.
“Hey.”
She sits next to you.
Careful.
Quiet.
A long pause passes.
Then—
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You finally glance at her.
“I know.”
Another silence.
Then she exhales, shaky.
“I just… I don’t know how to do it yet. Being open about that stuff. I’m still figuring it out and I’m scared it’s going to change everything.”
You soften instantly.
All the frustration drains out of you at once.
“Sarah…”
She looks at you, eyes a little glossy now.
“I’m not ashamed,” she says quickly. “I just—”
“I know,” you interrupt gently.
And you do.
You really do.
You shift a little closer.
“You don’t have to come out to anyone before you’re ready,” you say quietly. “Not the team. Not anyone. Not even me in a big way.”
She blinks.
“But I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you away.”
“I don’t think that,” you say honestly.
Then softer—
“I just miss you when you do.”
That lands.
She looks down at her hands.
“I don’t want to lose what we have.”
You shake your head immediately.
“You won’t.”
A pause.
Then you gently bump your shoulder against hers.
“Nothing about us changes because you’re figuring yourself out, okay?”
Her breathing slows a little.
“…okay.”
You reach over, carefully taking her hand.
She lets you.
Fingers curling into yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And you squeeze once.
“I’ve got you,” you murmur.
Her voice is barely there when she responds.
“…I’ve got you too.”
⸻
A few days later, things don’t magically fix themselves.
But they soften.
Sarah sits closer again.
Talks a little more.
Smiles a little easier.
And one night, after practice, she walks out with you instead of away from you.
Not announcing anything.
Not changing everything.
Just choosing you.
And that feels like enough.