Sidelines || MxM

Waiting

Jackson

"Bro, can you stop staring at your phone?" Mike nudged my shoulder, pulling me back to reality. We were mid-game on the Xbox, but my attention was obviously elsewhere. I glanced up, realizing that our dorm's living room had quieted considerably. Most of the guys had retreated to their rooms, probably to catch up on the sleep they'd missed during the last weekend partying after the game and the festival.

The commotion after today's practice, fueled by the weekend's adrenaline and nonstop action, had faded into a low-key evening vibe. Shadows crept across the room, swallowing the day's chaos—empty snack bags strewn across the coffee table, a lone sock draped over an armrest like a white flag. It was a strange kind of quiet, the kind that settles in after everyone's spent, leaving behind a calm that feels both out of place and oddly comforting.

Ben and Tyler were nowhere in sight, likely in their bedrooms already. My gaze inadvertently landed on Prax, our tackler. He was slouched in an armchair across the room, his eyes fixed on me with that look of disgust. This year was his comeback after redshirting due to an injury, and he hadn't hidden his displeasure about me being named captain. His glares had become a regular part of my daily life in the dorm and on the field.

At least he always celebrated with the team like a normal human being. And I could understand his frustration to some extent. Prax was a solid player, but his way of dealing with his disappointment, the barely concealed hostility, was something I could do without, especially now with everything else on my plate.

I set the controller aside, rubbing my forehead. "Sorry, man. Just got a lot on my mind."

Mike hit the pause button and swiveled towards me, concern etching his face. "Still no word from Ethan, huh?"

"Nothing. It's like he's ghosting me. I messaged Ethan throughout the weekend, but he hasn't gotten back to me. I saw the message marked read this morning, but if he doesn't agree to help, I'm pretty fucked." It was Monday evening already, and still no word from Ethan. The silence was eating away at me, more than I cared to admit. "I can't believe Emily went all out saying shit. I don't know what has gotten into her. Maybe Ethan doesn't want to do anything with me."

As I sat there, my thoughts inevitably wandered back to that moment with Ethan. It was like a frame frozen in time, his face inches from mine, those wide, vulnerable eyes staring into mine. At that moment, arousal hit me, and I knew he had noticed. Fuck, thinking about that again, I felt a flicker of embarrassment recalling how my body had reacted, an involuntary response that didn't escape Ethan's notice. His quick, embarrassed glance away told me he knew, and it only made the situation more awkward.

I shook my head, trying to dispel the image. "Why am I even thinking about this?" I muttered under my breath, frustrated with myself. "It was just an accident, nothing more." I couldn't shake the image, even as I tried to focus on anything else. All weekend, it replayed in my mind, leaving me restless.

Why did it bother me so much? Ethan was a guy, just another person, but the concern I felt when I saw him on top of me was unnerving. It was as if he needed protection, and that thought alone was enough to send unfamiliar ripples through me.

I'd always been taught to be the strong one, especially with how my dad viewed the world. Senator Knox wouldn't stand for weakness, not in his world of power plays and public images. And yet, there I was, unable to shake the feeling that Ethan, with his delicate frame and those expressive eyes, had stirred something unexpected in me.

It was a compulsion to shield him from whatever had caused that fear. And that was a dangerous line of thought. It went against everything I'd been raised to believe about strength and masculinity. Was I reading too much into a mere moment of human connection?