The elevator climbed unforgivably slowly.
“When did you move in here?” Evan asked. The question slipped out before he could filter it, and he regretted it immediately.
CJ didn’t seem to notice. “Player services hooked me up with a Realtor who found it for me before I moved from Chicago,” he said. “It was close to the park, and they had an available unit.” He glanced sideways at Evan and leaned back against the side wall. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
Evan nodded. He believed him. “Right,” he said. “Makes sense.”
The elevator continued to climb and the silence between them stretched. Evan became acutely aware of everything atonce: the hum of the motor, the glare of the lights, the faint scent of citrus and teakwood that he’d only ever smelled on CJ.
“So, this is going to be…” CJ trailed off and shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.
“Interesting,” Evan offered.
CJ huffed a quiet laugh that was more nerves than amusement. “Yeah. That.”
The elevator passed the tenth floor, then the eleventh. Evan stared at the digital numbers like they might save him. CJ shifted his weight as the display changed to twelve, then thirteen, before finally slowing and stopping at fourteen. The chime sounded, too loudly, and the doors slid open. They stepped out together, and Evan took two steps toward his apartment before realizing CJ was walking in the same direction. It took three more before he let himself understand what was happening.
CJ stopped at a door three down from his, and Evan stopped too, staring in disbelief. “This is you?”
CJ nodded, and Evan’s heart thudded. The distance he’d been counting on, the buffer of space that he needed, had been obliterated in the span of an elevator ride and a handful of steps.
CJ looked at him then, really looked, like he was attempting to read what Evan was trying to keep off his face. “I really didn’t know you lived here, Evan.”
Evan snorted softly. “I know.” He didn’t trust himself to say more.
“Okay, well,” CJ said after a beat. He looked down at the keys in his hand. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” Evan said.
He made his feet move toward his own apartment, taking the last few steps in a daze. He dug his key fob out of his pocket and pressed it against the reader beside the door. After the soft beep and the click of the lock disengaging, he pushed the dooropen. The familiar sound seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet hallway. For a second, he just stood there in the doorway, staring into the dark apartment, then he looked back. CJ was still standing there, keys hanging loosely from his fingers, watching him carefully. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them moved. CJ gave him a small, uncertain nod, and Evan returned it, just as restrained. Then Evan stepped inside and shut the door, leaning his forehead briefly against the wood as the lock clicked into place.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
Openingday came and went in a blur that Evan barely remembered. The ceremony of the event helped. The noise helped. Forty thousand people standing and cheering had a way of drowning out everything else, at least temporarily. Games demanded his full attention in a way nothing else did. Pitch sequencing. Keeping the pitcher calm. Keeping himself calm.
They split the first series: two wins, two losses. Not a great start but not a bad one either. By the end of it, Evan felt wrung out in a way that had nothing to do with the games. He’d hoped the rhythm would take over once the season started and the days were filled with video sessions, travel schedules, and the familiar grind. He’d hoped CJ would fade into the background where he belonged. Someone Evan saw across the field, nodded to, and filed away as manageable. But that wasn’t what happened. If anything, the season made it worse because there was no escaping CJ at all.
He was there on the field, directly in Evan’s line of sight in the outfield. He was there in the clubhouse, where CJ had been given a stall directly opposite Evan’s, making avoidanceimpossible. And he was there in the apartment building, where they ran into each other in the lobby while checking mail or grabbing food delivery. Or in the garage after practice or a game, sometimes late at night when both of them were quiet and tired and hyperaware of the other’s presence. The chance encounters started to stack up until Evan stopped believing they were accidental and started believing someone had placed a curse on him.
Once Evan opened his door to find CJ on his knees in front of his door, a can of WD-40 in one hand as he muttered under his breath about a squeaky hinge. He froze, hand still on the knob, his brain short-circuiting in a way that had nothing to do with surprise. It was the picture before him, of CJ on his knees, shoulders flexed and forearms taut as he leaned forward, head bowed in concentration. The sight slid somewhere it absolutely did not belong, sparking thoughts Evan had no business having and bringing up memories he’d spent years locking down.
He’d forced his eyes up and dragged his attention back to reality, but the damage had already been done. CJ had always looked unfairly good on his knees, and Evan’s chest tightened with emotions that were sharp and aching and deeply unhelpful.
Another time, Evan opened his door barefoot and half-awake to take out the trash and nearly collided with CJ in the hallway. CJ’s hair was mussed, hair flattened on one side like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the sight of him blinking sleepily at him hit Evan with a sharp, stupid pang in his chest that he hadn’t been prepared for.
“Sorry,” CJ had said, voice rough and low. “Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“You’re fine,” Evan had replied, then he stood there like an idiot for a second too long before retreating inside, still holding his bag of trash.
It was awkward but manageable, Evan lied to himself. But they were careful after that, giving each other space that felt measured rather than natural, as if they had to evaluate every interaction for risk before committing to it. Evan learned to pause before stepping into the hallway, listening for movement and the soft click of CJ’s door, or the shuffle of footsteps that would send him retreating into his apartment for a few seconds longer. When they did see each other, their conversations shrank to a bare minimum about the team or games, or they gave each other polite nods instead of conversation. Nothing that lingered.
Somehow, that restraint made everything worse. Evan found himself cataloging things he shouldn’t have noticed: the way CJ cleared his throat before speaking or how CJ’s eyes flicked away too quickly when they crossed paths, then came back, just to check. He was more aware of CJ than before, and every almost-interaction carried more weight than an actual conversation ever would. Second-guessing everything became part of Evan’s personality. How long was too long to make eye contact? How quickly was too quickly to look away? Did saying “hey” sound too familiar? Was he an asshole if he said nothing at all?
The worst part was how it resolved nothing. They just lived in a limbo that required constant vigilance, and Evan was exhausted.
Only one person seemed to notice. Rizzo was a lot of things, but unobservant would never be one of them. He had the good sense to wait for a quiet moment after practice, when most of the guys had filtered out, before he said anything. Evan was at his locker when Rizzo dropped onto the bench beside him.
“You good?” Rizzo asked casually.
