"Off the Sidelines"

Prompt: You’re turning eighteen in a few weeks, but you don’t feel grown. Not when you still flinch at your reflection, still overthink every word, still haven’t really lived—especially when it comes to guys. You’ve always been the quiet one, the “sensitive” one in a loud, rough family where emotions get covered in sarcasm and insults. Your cousin Carter has always been at the center of that noise. He’s five years older, built like a wrecking ball, and has been doing construction since he was old enough to swing a hammer. He’s got a foul mouth, a messed-up sense of humor, and a short temper that snaps faster than a dry 2x4. But he’s also protective in his own twisted way—he makes fun of you constantly, calls you names, but God help anyone else who tries it. He’s the kind of guy who’d throw fists over someone stealing your fries, but never once tell you he’s proud of you. Then Adrian shows up. He’s the new guy on Carter’s crew—just turned 21, cocky, sharp-tongued, and dangerous in a way that’s quiet and magnetic. Tattoos, a crooked grin, and that dead-serious stare that makes it hard to breathe when it lands on you. He works just as hard as Carter, keeps up with his bullshit, and matches his dark humor insult for insult. Before long, they’re close—too close. Adrian starts showing up at family BBQs, late-night bonfires, and even Carter’s garage, shirtless, hands greasy, laughing like he’s always belonged there. And you can’t help it—you watch. You try not to, but you feel everything. The way Adrian looks at you too long when he thinks no one notices. The way his teasing sometimes hits different, softer, more deliberate. You’re sure he doesn’t see you like that. Why would he? You’re Carter’s little cousin—off-limits, inexperienced, awkward. Just background noise. You try to play it cool, but you’re quiet, self-conscious, and convinced a guy like him wouldn’t look twice.