Work Text:
Bob Floyd did not come to the game expecting to be on the big screen.
He came for the football, the noise… Mostly, he came because the rest of the Dagger Squad had announced it to be a bonding activity, and Bob had long learned that resisting those was pointless.
You'd all arrived together - finally free from being stuck on base, your helmets traded for knitted hats, coats zipped against the cold, and many, many layers attempting to keep you warm.
In single file, you'd climbed the steps to your seats and sat in the same order you been in since you'd queued for beers.
You started the night a few seats away from Bob, boxed in by Hangman’s long legs and Phoenix’s relentless commentary about the players’ form.
By the end of the first quarter, everyone had moved around.
Someone went for more beers, someone else to the bathroom. Rooster hopped up a row, and Payback disappeared for another selection of hotdogs. At some point, Bob found himself sitting next to you.
The cold plastic chairs were close.
Close enough that your knees bounced against his when you laughed. Close enough that when he passed you a hot dog from Payback's tray, your fingers touched. He didn't look at you.
“You cold?” you asked at halftime.
“I’m -” He stopped and adjusted his glasses, a wry smile on his face. “I’m good.”
You didn’t argue, just shuffled a little closer and tucked your hand under his elbow.
“Well I'm freezing. Is this OK?”
Bob went very still.
“Uhh… sure. Of course.”
The third quarter rushed by in a haze of ever increasing crowd noise and the warmth from Bob's body pressed in close to yours.
He, on the other hand, became acutely aware of the way you leaned toward him when you talked, and how your shoulder pressed into his, and just how normal it felt.
Behind you, Rooster was - loudly - making his feelings about the game very clear. You half listened, half watched the big screen as the camera panned the crowd.
The Kiss Cam was doing the rounds. You watched an adorable elderly couple share a quick peck on the lips, and had pulled away from Rooster in just about the same amount of time as Bob had taken to think statistically, this is unlikely before you saw your own face filing the screen.
Both of you.
Rooster had leaned as far back in his seat as possible, only his knees were showing on the screen.
The crowd lost its mind.
You stared up at the screen with wide eyes. Bob felt his ears burning pink, his brain short-circuiting as the impatient chant started up around you - mostly from your own teammates.
“KISS! KISS! KISS!” You distinctly heard Phoenix and Hangman screeching.
Bob swallowed. “We don’t - I mean, we don’t have to -” His hands moved on their own, encouraging the camera to pan away.
You turned to him and something about the way you smiled - equally as nervous as he was, equally as fondly, like you’d been waiting for this very opportunity - made the decision for him.
Bob leaned in.
The kiss was brief but perfectly Bob. It was careful and sincere, and unmistakably real - you knew he wouldn't have done it if it wasn't.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, your shared breath warm between you.
“Happy New Year,” he murmured, barely audible over the noise.
You smiled. “Took you long enough.”
Around you, the Dagger Squad was already losing their collective minds, but Bob didn’t look at them.
He just laced his fingers through yours and stayed right where he was.