Page 12 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
It had crept up on themquietly, without fanfare.
Byron's eighteenth birthday came first, all rowdy noise and fast-food wrappers-his rugby lot throwing chips outside their local pub, shouting songs only half-remembered from a night out. They were drunk as skunks.
The next afternoon, Ana handed him a box of takeaway pizza in her kitchen. Inside were custom black rugby boots with silver stitching and the letters BR embroidered at the heel.
"Can't have you knackerin' yourself before you even get to Newcastle," she'd said.
He'd looked at her, something caught behind his bright hazel eyes and then wrapped her in a massive, bone-crushing bear hug, lifting her slightly off the ground.
"Yer bloody ace, Bartolini," he muttered into her hair.
She snorted. "Put me down before you crack my spine. And stop smelling my hair."
He grinned but didn't let go straight away.
"Cognitive dissonance," Ana said, pointing a card at him like a weapon.
Byron leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "That's when your brain throws a strop because your actions don't match your morals, right?"
Ana blinked. "That was... actually correct."
He wiggled his brows. "Told you I'm a psych god."
"Alright, don't pull a muscle patting yourself on the back."
Byron tapped the card. "You like this stuff."
Ana paused. "Yeah. I do."
He looked at her a beat longer than he needed to. "You're gonna be dangerous one day, Bartolini."
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Ana's birthday had been a quiet dinner at home and a lopsided cake made by her mum.
Byron had shown up early that morning at Ana's door, yawning and bruised from training, to hand her a tiny velvet pouch.
Inside was a silver charm-a tiny rugby boot, etched with surprising detail. He had insisted on clipping it onto her bracelet himself, awkward but deliberate.
"For balance," he'd said, grinning. "Words and wanderin'-and now a bit o' chaos."
"Right, last one," Ana said, flicking through the flashcards. "Maslow's hierarchy."
"Easy," Byron said, grinning. "Food, shagging, watching the telly, winning trophies-sorted."
Ana groaned. "That's not even close."
"Come on. Isn't 'love and belonging' the shagging bit?"
"Stop saying 'shagging' in public," Ana whispered with red cheeks looking to see if anyone heard.
He leaned closer, mock-whispering. "Shagging."
"BYRON! "
He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. She hit him with the big psychology book.
***
