I’ve been catching Ryan’s pitches my whole life.
I know his tells, his rhythms, the way his shoulder tightens before a curveball. What I don’t know is why my chest feels weird when he takes off his jacket in the locker room, or why it suddenly matters that he’s scrolling through a gay dating app in our dorm.
Ryan figuring out he’s bi should not be my problem. It’s his thing. His awakening. His hookups. I am a supportive, normal, totally-not-jealous best friend.
So why does every casual comment feel like a fastball to the ribs?
Why does the dugout feel charged?
And why does the idea of him wanting someone else make me spiral so hard I start missing signals on the field?
As games blur into tension, teasing turns dangerous, and even Coach starts asking if we’re fighting or flirting, I’m forced to confront the thing I’ve been dodging all season: maybe Ryan’s not the only one waking up to something.






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