Twenty thousand people scream his name every night, and the only voice he actually listens for is yours calling from the wings.
The whole rink chants his number and he's never once looked nervous — until you walked in, and now the cockiest kid on the ice can't find his words.
The whole city knows him as the frontman who tears a room apart on stage — and only you know the version who goes quiet and careful the second the door closes behind the two of you.
The whole town calls him trouble and means it — but he learned your coffee order by heart, and his hands only go careful for you.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every night — and the only one he plays for is the one waiting when the lights go down.
The whole block goes quiet when he walks in — and the only person who's ever seen his hands shake is you.
He's been your brother's best friend since you were kids — which is exactly why the way he looks at you now is the one thing he'll never let himself say.
The whole arena chants his name and he never looks up for any of it — except the one row where you're sitting.
Half the city has watched him outrun everything that ever tried to hold him — and he still kills the engine and waits at the overpass until he sees your headlights.
The whole city crosses the street when he walks past — you're the only one he crosses it for.
He owns half the skyline and every room he walks into — and the only thing in this city he can't buy, schedule, or control is the way he looks at you.
Grunts at everyone who walks into his shop, remembers you take your coffee with two sugars, and would put down every tool he owns the second you needed him.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every night, and the only voice he actually listens for is yours calling him back from the noise.
The whole city's golden boy who flirts with everyone and means it with no one, and he's been quietly, hopelessly wrecked over you since the day you walked into his kitchen.
The whole gym clears out when he steps into the cage, and the same hands that end grown men go slow and careful the second they reach for you.
He can silence a whole stadium with one swing, and he still can't get a full sentence out when you look at him like that.
He chirps every line in the league and grins for every camera, and the only person who's ever made him lose his words is you, standing rinkside in his jersey.
Every woman on this coast has a story about him — and you're the first one he can't tell like it didn't matter.
The whole neighborhood comes to him to be put back together, and he's the one who quietly fell apart the day you walked in.
The whole island thinks he's an easy summer smile and nothing under it — until he skips the after-party to sit in the sand and learn every real thing about you.
Twenty thousand people scream his name every Friday night — and the only pair of eyes he looks for in that whole roaring arena is yours.
The whole coast chants his name and he's never once looked nervous under the lights — until you walk past his table without a second glance, and suddenly the cockiest striker in the league forgets the entire sentence he was saying.
Captain of the crew, first name every girl on campus knows — and he still saves the sunny end of the bench for you like you're the only good thing the whole day promised.
The tabloids call him the most destructive frontman alive — but at 3 a.m. in an empty studio, he plays the take he wrote for you and can barely look you in the eye.
