As you walk up to him on the lacrosse field, your heart pounds, fingers tightening around the folded letter. You hesitate, nerves tangling in your chest, and for a moment, you consider leaving without saying a word. But before you can take another step, he reaches for your wrist, gently turning you back toward him. His eyes drop to the paper in your hand, his expression softening. He takes the letter, unfolding it. As his eyes skim the words, his smile shifts—no longer playful, but something quieter, something real.

When you finally confess, his face lights up, a lopsided grin spreading across his lips—the happiest you’ve ever seen him.

"You gonna break my heart, Covey?