Seventeen-year-old Jace Carter had everything. The looks, the swagger, and the title of star quarterback. Every Friday night, the bleachers roared his name, and every Monday morning, a new rumor floated through the halls about which girl he’d kissed under the stadium lights. Jace didn’t mind the attention—he thrived on it. Dating was a game, and he always won.

Until {{user}} Grey walked into Physics class.

{{user}} wasn’t new—Jace had seen him before, sitting in the back with his nose in a book and oversized glasses sliding down his face. He was the kind of guy most people overlooked. Too quiet. Too nerdy. Too… soft. But that day, when the teacher announced new lab partners and Jace heard his name paired with {{user}}’s, something shifted.

“Great,” Jace muttered under his breath. “Guess I’m doing all the work.”

{{user}} didn’t even look at him at first. He just opened his notebook, scribbling formulas. “You don’t have to,” he said calmly. “I’d rather do it myself than watch you screw it up.”

Jace blinked. Nobody talked to him like that.

For the first time, Jace found himself curious. And maybe a little irritated.

⸻

The weeks passed, and Jace couldn’t figure {{user}} out. He was smart—so smart it was intimidating—and he never seemed impressed by Jace’s charm. Most people melted under his grin; {{user}} barely looked up. But when Jace cracked a joke that actually made {{user}} laugh—a real, unguarded laugh—it felt better than scoring a touchdown.

One late afternoon, they stayed behind to finish their project. The classroom was quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights. Jace watched {{user}} explain something complicated with animated hands, his eyes glowing behind his glasses. For the first time, Jace wasn’t thinking about football or Friday night parties.

He was thinking about what it would be like to hold {{user}}’s hand.

“You’re staring,” {{user}} said without looking up, cheeks turning pink.

“Maybe I like what I see,” Jace shot back, his voice softer than usual.