The buzzer blared through the Dunbridge Lions’ gym, the sound rattling against Noah Veyra’s ribs as he caught his final rebound of the night. The scoreboard glowed bright in their favor, and the crowd roared in approval, a tide of voices rising and breaking all around him. His teammates whooped and chest-bumped, clapping each other on the backs, sweat flying under the harsh overhead lights. Noah stood still in the middle of it, towering over the rest, his face unreadable as always, breath hissing evenly between clenched teeth.

Then, as the noise swelled and blurred, his eyes found her. She was seated apart from the packed student bleachers, her posture composed but her gaze steady, fixed right on him. Not on the scoreboard. Not on the celebration. On him. His chest tightened, the sound around him thinning for just a second. She came.

Noah made his way over, steps deliberate, towel draped around his thick neck. He leaned down so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured, voice low and rough from the game. “Just need to grab my stuff.” His lips brushed her cheek in a quick, almost clumsy kiss — a habit he was still getting used to doing in public. The whoops and teasing calls from behind barely registered. His ears burned, but he didn’t turn. He just straightened, gave her a nod, and disappeared into the tunnel.

**

The locker room was humid, the air thick with the smell of sweat, deodorant, and the sharp tang of disinfectant. Steam curled out of the showers at the far end, and the muffled beat of someone’s playlist rattled faintly from a Bluetooth speaker perched on a bench. Jerseys slapped wetly onto the tiled floor, shoes thudded into lockers, and voices tangled together in the usual post-game chaos.

Malik dropped onto the bench beside Noah with a groan, peeling tape from his wrists. “Man, did you see that dunk? I swear, that rim’s gonna need replacing after I’m done with it.” Eli, sprawled across from them, snorted. “You’re delusional. The highlight reel’s all me tonight. Twelve assists, baby.” He held up his fingers like they were cameras snapping shots of him. Caleb threw a rolled-up sock that nailed Eli square in the chest. “Bro, you couldn’t even get the ball past midcourt without tripping over your own ego.” Laughter filled the room, bouncing off the tile. Dante leaned back against his locker, scrolling through his phone. “Y’all better clear your schedules. Party at Sigma Rho tonight. Word’s already spreading — whole campus is gonna show.” Noah tugged off his jersey and sat quietly, folding it into his bag. His teammates’ chatter rolled over him like background noise. He didn’t mind it; in fact, it made him feel anchored. Just college guys being college guys. Talking about dunks, parties, professors they hated. Normal. He liked listening, even if he rarely joined in.

Ryan’s voice cut sharper than the rest. “Hey, Wall,” he called from across the room, a scowl tugging his mouth as normal. “Who was that out there waitin’ for you? That your mom or somethin’?” The locker room erupted with laughter, sudden and loud.

Noah’s shoulders went rigid. His jaw clenched. Don’t bite. Don’t give it air. He shoved a shoe into his bag, the thud muffled but sharp. “No,” he muttered flatly. His tone left no room for argument, but it didn’t matter.

Dante’s grin spread like gasoline catching flame. He slapped his locker door with the flat of his palm for attention. “Might not be her mom, but he definitely calls her mommy.” He said with a laugh.

The locker room howled. Even Eli snickered behind his hand.

Heat crawled up Noah’s neck, not from embarrassment for himself but from knowing the sound carried — that she might have heard every word through the thin walls and hallway. He zipped his bag with a harsh jerk, slinging it over his shoulder. For a split second, the laughter dimmed as the guys noticed his size filling the narrow aisle, the shadow he cast when he straightened to his full height. No fists, no shouting — just the silence that always made them second-guess.

“You really that insecure that you got dumped, that you gotta rip all over Noah’s relationship?” Malik called out, cool and collected, a calm and lazy smirk directed at Ryan. Malik never needed to raise his voice or curse to make a point, something Noah envied about his teammate. Ryan’s eye twitched and his scowl intensified at Malik’s comment.

“You don’t know jack shit.” He snapped, balling his hands into fists.

“I know that all you clowns that are laughing are single. So why don’t you mind your business and keep your noses outta Noah’s life, huh?” Malik said to all of them, who looked unsure, sheepish or guilty, all of them quiet.

Ryan scoffed, but it was weaker now. Dante clicked his tongue, shaking his head like he was backing off. Caleb jumped in with another party joke, and the chatter turned.

Noah pushed through the door without a word.

**

The night air cooled the sweat still clinging to Noah’s skin. The slam of the locker room door shut out the noise, but the words clung anyway. Mom. Mommy. His jaw clenched. He could still hear their voices bouncing off tile, too loud, too sharp.

He spotted her under the streetlamp, her arms crossed, posture stiff. His chest tightened. Not angry. Not smiling either. Just... waiting.

Noah adjusted the strap of his duffel, moving toward her in long, deliberate strides. He didn’t speak right away — words never came quick, not when he needed them to. He stopped in front of her, shoulders squared, head lowered slightly so his shadow wouldn’t swallow her whole.

“They’re idiots,” he said finally, voice rough from the game. Flat. Absolute.

Silence stretched. He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring off to the side. Say something else. Fix it.

“I don’t—” He stopped, exhaled through his nose. Started again. “I don’t call you that. Never did, you know I’m not like that.” His tone was clipped, like each word had to be pushed out of a locked chest. “They just run their mouths. Don’t know anything.”

He risked a glance at her. Her expression didn’t change, and the tightness in his stomach twisted deeper. He shifted awkwardly, weight rocking once on his heels. Big, immovable, and suddenly wishing he could disappear.

“They’re just... stupid jokes,” he muttered. “About me. Not you. Don’t... don’t take it like that.”

He hated how blunt it sounded, but softness wasn’t in his nature. The closest he got was the way his hand lifted, hesitated, then landed lightly on her arm — careful, like she might flinch. Why couldn’t I be more like Malik? He’d know what to say...

“I don’t care what they say.” His eyes held hers, steady and heavy, like he could press the truth across without the words. “I care that you’re here. That’s it.”

He let his hand fall back to his side, flexing it once. Silence again. The kind that made most people fidget. He just stood in it, broad shoulders set, waiting for her to believe him.

Finally, he cleared his throat, shifting his duffel off his shoulder. “C’mon,” he said, voice low, almost gruff. “We could watch a movie. My place or yours?”

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t practiced. But in Noah’s world, that was comfort — blunt, solid, and unshakably there.