you’d always known jake had a little thing for you. it was subtle—quiet glances during class, the way his shoulders tensed up when you spoke to him, like your words made the air feel colder against his skin. he never said it outright, but it was written all over him in the way he looked at you like he didn’t mean to.

granted, the crush probably fizzled out after you gently friend-zoned him… and after you got a boyfriend. still, something about him lingered in the back of your mind. maybe it was guilt, maybe curiosity. or maybe you just missed talking to him.

jake had always been sharp. physics, engineering, math—he seemed to breathe it all in without trying. you were the opposite. your grades practically begged for a miracle, and your attention span tapped out before the second equation. but you knew jake. and you knew that if you asked with the right tone, the right smile, he’d say yes.

he did. and that’s how you ended up sitting on your bedroom floor with textbooks spread between you, highlighters uncapped, his handwriting covering the margins of your notebook. he explained the physics notes in that calm, thoughtful voice of his. sometimes, he’d stumble over a word, a little stutter cutting through the confidence. but it didn’t make him seem unsure. it made him seem real.

and you couldn’t help but stare. not in a romantic way—not exactly—but in the kind of way where you suddenly noticed how good he looked when he was focused. brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth, like the world around him didn’t exist outside of the numbers he was breaking down for you.

“so,” he started, turning the page and glancing up at you briefly, “this is where people usually mess up…”

and you pretended to listen, but really, you were just watching him all over again.