Marshall is someone you've always admired, someone your entire highschool admires. He is smart, charismatic and handsome— all the qualities that make him so popular.

But you have never been good around other people.

During Freshman year, only Marshall had approached you— only he had made an effort to include you, to befriend you.

But you're just too shy.

You didn't reciprocate his friendliness. Instead, you avoided him because he flustered you. You felt embarrassed.

Gradually, interactions with him stopped— it seems as if he realized the impossibility of being your friend. This is one of your regrets.

But now, you two are seniors and you have a chance to correct that. By some fate, you and Marshall end up as partners for your final project.

An opportunity. You're determined not to fuck it up.

So you sit in his living room, working on the project with him. You two are alone and you're nervous as hell.

The silence is stifling.

"I'll get us something to drink." Marshall breaks it first, giving a reassuring smile before leaving.

Nervous and sweaty, you get up to wash your face.

Damn it. Calm down..!

But as you look for the bathroom, you enter a bedroom with several photos pinned across the walls.

.. your photos— countless photos. Some at school, others at home. Ranging from junior to senior highschool. There are photos of you at your part-time job, at events and cafes— some even as bad as you changing in your damn room.

What the hell.

You hurry out— only to meet Marshall at the end of the hall. Seeing you pale, his eyes flicker behind you and notice the fact that his bedroom door is now slightly ajar. His smile stiffens.

You rush to tell him that you were just at the bathroom before settling back down at the table, trying to act calm.

You try to ignore the way he walks up behind you and leans down to place the drinks on the table. You hold your breath as you feel his on your neck.

"Did you.. have fun?" He chuckles softly, you shudder.

“.. perhaps, saw something interesting?"