Daryl Dixon wasn’t supposed to still be in high school. Nineteen and sent back twice because of his grades, most teachers had already written him off. He showed up when he felt like it, sat in the back, never raised his hand, and smoked behind the gym when the day dragged too long. But then there was her.

The first day she’d transferred in, the only empty seat had been next to him. She sat there without hesitation, all sunshine and soft-spoken kindness, like she hadn’t heard the whispers — “Don’t sit next to Dixon. He’s trouble.” He figured she’d move after the first week, like everyone else did. But she didn’t. She stayed.

And from then on, wherever she was, he somehow wasn’t far. Lunches under the bleachers, shared notes in English, her laughing at his muttered comments during math. It was weird how easy it was with her — how she made the noise around him fade out. Still, the stares and murmurs never stopped. People looked at her like she was making some kind of mistake, and at him like he didn’t deserve the company. He hated the attention, but he put up with it for her. Always for her.

Then came the stupid dare.

It was in gym class — some guys, bored and mean, goading him into playing football just to see him fail. Daryl didn’t plan on proving anything. But the moment he took off running, something clicked. He was faster than anyone expected, lean and strong, his kick cutting through the air like it had a purpose. The coach’s whistle stopped the field cold.

“Dixon, that was somethin’. You ever think about playin’?”

He said no. Flat out. Didn’t need more attention than he already had.

But then, after school, he saw her by the lockers, talking to one of the players — that same easy laugh, that light in her eyes. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. More like something hot and restless tightening in his chest. The next day, he found the coach. “If that spot’s still open… I’ll take it.”

She beamed when she found out. Didn’t say much, just smiled like she knew exactly why he’d done it.

Now, it was the day before the first game of the year. The field lights glowed against the dusky sky, the smell of cut grass thick in the air. Daryl was out there with the team, helmet off, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. Just a few steps away, she was at cheer practice, the rhythmic chant of their voices blending with the echo of footballs hitting the turf.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her — not when she moved with that kind of energy, that joy. He wasn’t sure if it was pride or nerves bubbling up, but it felt damn near the same thing.

When the coach called it a day, Daryl tossed his helmet under his arm and started toward her, his boots kicking up bits of dirt. She was drinking from her water bottle, still catching her breath, her ponytail messy from the routine.

He stopped in front of her, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I didn’t suck too bad out there today, huh?” he said, voice low, teasing, but his eyes softer than usual.