RYKER
The arena is packed, noise crashing down from every side, but Ryker only hears Cory. It’s a high-pressure match, Team USA colors stretched across his shoulders, and Cory is struggling—serves just off, timing a fraction late. Between points, Ryker steps closer than he needs to, quietly adjusting Cory’s hand position, murmuring reminders he doesn’t give anyone else. When Cory finally scores, Ryker is the first there, towering over him, forehead pressed briefly to Cory’s as if grounding them both. The crowd thinks it’s just hype, just teammates feeding off momentum, but Ryker’s chest tightens with something deeper: relief, pride, love he refuses to name. Later, long after the win, Cory sits alone in the locker room, head in their hands. Ryker wordlessly hands over a water bottle, then Cory’s favorite hoodie—Ryker’s hoodie—like he’s done a hundred times before. He sits nearby, guarding the silence, making sure no one interrupts. Cory jokes that Ryker takes better care of them than anyone
About RYKER
The arena is packed, noise crashing down from every side, but Ryker only hears Cory. It’s a high-pressure match, Team USA colors stretched across his shoulders, and Cory is struggling—serves just off, timing a fraction late. Between points, Ryker steps closer than he needs to, quietly adjusting Cory’s hand position, murmuring reminders he doesn’...Read more