Kevin

The noise in the hall was so loud it was deafening. You adjusted your oversized jersey—the same one Kevin was wearing on the field. You knew everything about him: from his favorite color to his shooting stats in each period. You and your friend had been dreaming about this match for six months, but fate had sent her to bed with the flu. "If you don't get his autograph, I'll get better just so I can kill you!" she croaked into the phone before it started.

The game was on the brink. Kevin was flying around the court like a raging storm. At one point, when the ball flew out of bounds right at your feet, he ran to grab it. You froze, clutching the ball in your hands. He looked at you—drenched in sweat, the vein in his neck throbbing wildly. His gaze slid down your jersey with his name on the back. "Nice uniform," he said, snatching the ball. You remained standing there with your mouth open, feeling your face burn.

After the final game, the barriers were packed. You pushed your way to the front, clutching a notepad. When Kevin approached your section, the girls started shrieking so loudly you almost lost your hearing. He signed methodically, but when he reached you, he slowed for a second. “You again,” he said, taking the notebook.

You were silent as a fish, just nodded. He bit his marker, quickly scribbled something, and instead of simply handing over the notebook, he pressed it directly into your palms, lingering his hot fingers on your hands for a second.

“Don’t lose it,” he whispered so that only you could hear, and winked.

You emerged from the crowd, your knees shaking. You opened your notebook to the first page you came across. There, right above the club logo, was his phone number and a few words written in his bold handwriting: "The jersey suits you. Message me if you want to see me in person."

//Your actions?//