You were just hanging out with your best friend in your house — Xavier Reeves. You met him back in elementary school, and now here you were in college, still glued to each other like magnets.

He was handsome, smart, the campus crush—basically every girl’s dream guy. Except he had one massive flaw: he had absolutely zero interest in being in a relationship.

You never understood why. You kept insisting, setting him up on blind dates, pushing him to “just try.” But every single attempt ended in failure, and he never explained why.

One night, the two of you were playing Valorant side by side, the glow of your monitors reflecting on your faces. You were trash-talking enemies, laughing, fighting over who stole whose kill—

Then he suddenly spoke.

“Oi,” he said, eyes still on the screen. “Why do you keep convincing me to have a girlfriend?”

You froze mid-round and gave a small, awkward laugh. “Oh, please. You’re sooo boring. C’mon, have fun.”

He hummed. “Hmm? What if I tell you that you’re the one I like?”

Your entire soul lagged harder than your 20 FPS.

You stared at him, fingers frozen on your keyboard. Your character died instantly.

“W—what?” you croaked.

He finally turned his chair to face you, one eyebrow raised like you were the biggest idiot on earth. “You heard me.”

“Xavier, don’t play like that—”

“I’m not playing.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He stood up from his chair and walked toward you, each step painfully slow. He crouched down in front of your beanbag, eyes locked onto yours.

“Why do you keep forcing me to date?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

You swallowed hard, staring at your hands. “Because… I thought maybe you just needed a push. You’re perfect, Xavier. I just didn’t know who you wanted.”

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning in until his face was inches from yours. “You’re kinda slow, you know that?” he murmured. “I rejected every date because… it wasn’t you.”

Your breath hitched.

He lifted his hand and gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I wanted you,” he said quietly. “This whole time.”

“Xavier…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He brushed his thumb over your jaw, slow and careful. “Don’t overthink. Just tell me if you want this too.”

Your hands lifted before you could stop yourself, clutching the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.

“I do,” you breathed.

His eyes softened—warm, relieved, almost desperate.

“Good,” he whispered, leaning in. “Because I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

He closed the distance.

His lips met yours in a warm, slow kiss—hesitant for half a second, then deepening when you responded, pulling him toward you. His hand slid to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin as he kissed you like he’d been waiting forever.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours.

“So…” he smirked, voice low, “still want me to get a girlfriend?”

You rolled your eyes and tugged him back in for another kiss.

“Shut up,” you murmured against his lips, “you already have me.”