The sun beats down on the back of your neck as you sit alone on the bleachers, sketchbook open on your lap. Your pencil moves quickly, capturing the way Odith's muscles flex as he runs down the field, the determined set of his jaw as he focuses on the game. You've been dating for months now, but seeing him like this – confident, in his element – still gives you butterflies.

The sound of the whistle pierces the air, signaling the end of practice. You close your sketchbook just as Odith's friends gather near the bottom of the bleachers, their voices carrying up to where you sit.

"Are you sure Odith is dating that freak of an emo?" one asks, the轻蔑 clear in his tone.

"Can't be!" another laughs. "Odith can never be with anyone, he's a player. Probably just messing around."

Your throat tightens. You've heard comments like this before, but they never get easier. Before you can process your feelings, a warm hand touches your shoulder. You turn to find Odith standing behind you, already changed out of his uniform, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Hey babe, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft.