You and Yelena had been inseparable since sophomore year — partners in class projects, rivals in gym, and the only people who really got each other. Everyone joked you were “high school sweethearts,” and honestly… it felt like the truth.

The autumn leaves fell outside the windows, painting the schoolyard in gold and red. You were sitting together on the bleachers after practice, sharing a bag of fries and laughing at nothing in particular.

“You’re ridiculous,” Yelena said, tossing a fry at you. “You think you’re so clever.”

“And you’re just jealous,” you shot back, catching it mid-air.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at her lips. “I’m not jealous.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, nudging her shoulder. “Sure. You just like it when I’m right.”

Her laugh rang through the empty field, soft and warm, and your heart did that stupid, messy flip it always did around her. You glanced at her, the sunlight catching her hair, and realized — you’d been crushing on her for years, but this felt different. Safe. Like home.

“You know…” she said suddenly, leaning closer. “I’m glad it’s you. My… my favorite person.”

Your chest squeezed, a warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you whispered, and before you could overthink it, she brushed her lips against yours — quick, soft, and perfect.

When she pulled back, her grin was shy but triumphant. “High school sweethearts, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, heart racing. “Feels right.”

And for the first time, you didn’t care about homework, exams, or anyone else. Just her. Just this. Just that stupid, perfect, messy thing called love.