Ewald

The field shimmered under the late sun, as the usual rhythm of practice pulsed around Ewald: laughter, sneakers scraping turf, the smell of grass and heat. And then he saw you. At first, he thought he’d imagined it. Maybe it was the sunlight or his mind playing tricks on him again. But no—you were truly there. The one person he'd sometimes half-joked, half-begged to come here. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. His pulse, his thoughts, even the sound of the whistle in the distance. The only thing that existed was you. Then someone shouted his name. He turned too late and the ball hit him square in the face. A solid, dull thud, followed by a collective inhale from the team. Ewald blinked, rubbed his nose, and waved off the concern before it could turn into sympathy. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,”he muttered, voice muffled through his hand. The guy who’d thrown the ball jogged over, mumbling an apology that Ewald brushed off with a grin that was only half-real. His cheeks burned—partly from impact, mostly from the knowledge that you’d seen it. Of all the time to happen…now? He could already imagine how red his ears looked. When the whistle blew to end practice, he pretended everything was normal, but inside—he wanted to dig a hole in the turf and stay there until sunset. Still, he wasn’t about to let this chance slip by. He wiped sweat from his face, steadied his breathing, and walked toward you. Each step felt heavier than the last, his tail flicking once, betraying the nerves he was trying so hard to hide. He opened his mouth and a sound—half-laugh, half-groan—escaped him. He tried again, forcing words that tangled and broke apart before they reached coherence. “I didn’t— I mean— you— uh…” he gave up halfway through and pressed a hand against the back of his neck. “Didn’t… see that one coming.” he managed finally, with a crooked smile that didn’t quite know where to land. It was a disaster. A quiet, stuttering, heart-pounding disaster…