Chapter Text
Alex Lassiter never imagined that his life would turn out this way.
Born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, by a single mother, football was his passion. His escape from reality. His mother, Helene, and his grandparents scraped together the money to register him for club teams starting at 7 years old, recognizing his inherent athletic talent and his work ethic.
Practice and extra conditioning at the coach’s houses basically raised him, while Helene worked long hours to support them both. Despite his young age, he knew what it cost his family to keep him there when Helene was excused from providing team dinners and snacks, and his uniforms were paid for by local sponsors. His teammates never teased him for his secondhand cleats or his generic clothes picked up from the clearance rack at Gabe’s. They couldn’t afford to. “Lassiter,” as they always referred to him, was the heart and soul of his team year in and year out. He conditioned harder, sprinted faster, and lifted more than any of his teammates. He never gave up on a play until the whistle was called. He was always good-humored, passionate, and genuinely caring. He got opportunities to play on both sides of the football and test his skills, rotating with his teammates. As the little boy with bright brown eyes, a tangle of dark curls, and tan skin grew into a young man, it became clear that he was a gifted tight end.
At a 5A high school, Alex played junior varsity for half of the season before being pulled up to the varsity team. Athletic, tall, fast, and having an intimate knowledge of the playbook and the defense, having played both sides of the ball as a child, he quickly became a favorite target of their quarterback. He uploaded tapes of his highlights to MaxPreps, sent cold emails to college coaches between classes asking for an opportunity, and continued to work hard to earn the respect of his locker room.
His opportunity came with the University of Tennessee. Now a 6’2” man with an almost god-like physique, long eyelashes, full lips, high cheekbones, and a cut jaw, he could have gotten a modeling contract instead if that’s what he wanted, but he didn’t seem to really notice just how attractive he was. Beauty gets you nowhere on the field. In college, through sweaty frat parties and locker rooms, he realized he was bisexual. Guys aren’t really supposed to look at other guys that long, just pulling their practice jersey over their heads. Abs. Pecs. Biceps flexing over their heads. Alex never formally came out, but once people heard whispers… he left Knoxville with plenty of experience.
Two 1,000-yard seasons and three trips to the College Football Playoffs later, he was selected in the first round of the NFL draft by the Cincinnati Bengals. Number 31 overall. A notable feat for a tight end. Coach Taylor’s call to inform him set the expectation that his impressive talent would significantly impact the Bengals’ offense. Alex hadn’t traveled to the draft, never expecting this honor, but he did have hats from all 32 NFL teams on his mom’s scuffed IKEA kitchen table. She put the Bengals hat on his head, and he collapsed in tears with her arms around him.
Despite Cincinnati only being about 4 hours from Pittsburgh, Alex had never been before. He signs his rookie deal, $13 million, and takes in the sights of the city with the other Bengals rookies. Everyone else drafted by the Bengals this year is on the defensive side of the ball. That’s where they need the most work by far to improve on their, admittedly, disappointing season last year.
Joe Burrow, Ja’Marr Chase, Tee Higgins, and Trey Hendrickson played some of the best football of their lives last year, but they just missed out on the playoffs and all the recognition that comes with that. This group of rookies is buzzing about the opportunity to be the player who makes the difference in winning it all this year. The Bengals' tight ends fell short last year as well, missing tackles and dropping the football right before walk-in touchdowns. That’s the reason Alex is here, and he knows it. This team is overflowing with offensive talent, but he can be the last missing puzzle piece that could make them churn through every defense in the National Football League. On his first night in the hotel in Cincinnati, sharing a room with a rookie linebacker named Jackson Slavon, Coach Taylor gives Alex a call after dinner.
“Coach” Alex answers, trying not to sound too excited or too disinterested. Seeing Coach Taylor’s name appear on his phone still gets his heart rate so high that he can barely hear. Alex had huge success in college, but he knows this is a different world, and he has to fight for the right to be here and stay here.
“Lassiter! How are you finding Cincinnati? Better than Pittsburgh, right?” Coach Taylor asks with a smile in his voice.
“Oh, I don’t know if I would go that far yet, sir, but I am enjoying myself. Had my first Skyline Chili today, so I can call myself a Bengal.” Alex responds, trying to control the shake in his voice. His hands are so sweaty that he has his older iPhone in a vice grip in his hand, turning his knuckles white. He puts his phone on his other ear to wipe his hand on his jeans and then returns it to his right side. He would die if he dropped his phone and didn’t answer Coach Taylor promptly.
“You’ll be a Bengal the first time you help us get a victory over the Steelers, how does that sound?” Coach Taylor asks.
“Yes, sir. I would love that opportunity, sir.” Alex gets out.
“Listen. Lassiter. We want you here. We’re all very excited about you. I actually called because I asked Joe if he’d be willing to kind of mentor you and guide you through this transition to the National Football League. It’s a lot of information, a lot of change, and since you’re our only rookie on the offensive side, I thought that there couldn’t be a better connection than that and he agreed.” Coach Taylor says this name to me like it is the most perfectly normal news in the world. Like Alex will get to have a cup of black coffee with breakfast in the morning. Oh yeah, Joe will show you around. My good buddy, Joe. This is anything but routine. He's talking about having Joe Burrow as Alex’s mentor. Joseph, the best quarterback in the league and an MVP contender, Burrow.
Alex, of course, knew that Burrow would be his quarterback on the Bengals and that they would work closely, but his personal liaison to the team? Alex falls silent in thought. His jaw practically on the ground, and a hand is buried in his dark curls.
Joe Burrow has led the Cincinnati Bengals to their first Super Bowl in decades in his short 4 years in the League. He’s known as Joe Shiesty, Joe Cool, or Joe Burr for his intensity on the field, but deep calmness under pressure. Even before Alex was drafted by the Bengals, he admired Joe from afar, going out of his way to watch Bengals games and defending Burrow on social media in the MVP conversation. Alex was so jealous of his closet, too. Incredible ball skills, accurate arm, fashion sense to die for, this guy was a freak of nature. In the best way possible.
Burrow was Alex’s dream quarterback to play for, knowing that Burrow’s skill would elevate his own, and his stats would show it. This is all without mentioning how drop-dead gorgeous Burrow is.
“Lassiter? Is it okay with you to send him your number…?” Coach Taylor asks, clearly surprised at his sudden hesitation.
“Yeah.” Alex croaks out, throat dry. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you for all of your help making me feel welcome here, coach.” Alex’s knee is bouncing hard off the hotel room desk, making Slavon roll over in bed and glare at him. He mouths out a small sorry to Slavon before saying goodnight to Coach Taylor and letting him hang up first.
As soon as the two men have disconnected, Alex’s head is in his hands. Slavon sighs, knowing he has to ask what’s wrong but clearly not caring about the actual problem. Lassiter is the first-round pick and already a social media darling for his heartfelt reaction to being drafted. “What, Lassiter?” Slavon mumbles, not looking up from his phone.
“Burrow is going to be my main contact to get settled here,” Alex responds, head still in his hands and breathing heavily.
“Congratu-fucking-lations.” Slavon retorts with an eye roll.