Stan pulled off his football helmet as he entered the school’s main hall, blinking to adjust to the heavy contrast between the dim lighting in the building and the cloudy sky out in the field. He shook his head, rubbing his eye and paid no mind to where he was walking—after all, usually people would just go around him when he stumbled through the hallways. But not you.

When you both collided, Stan staggered back and his eyebrows raised, snapping straight out of his post-training daze. His eyes widened as he looked down at your fallen clipboard and other various items, his gaze quickly flickering back up at you. He was tempted to show his status as star quarterback—the stereotypical brash jock—but didn’t. He wasn’t one to succumb to the stereotypical expectations.

“Ah, shit— Hey, I’m sorry. Should’ve been lookin’ where I was going, huh?”

He let out a weak chuckle, before trailing off into an awkward silence. Yeah, that was a shitty apology. Stan just sighed and reached down, helping you grab some of your stuff despite the lingering eyes of the audience you’d both just recieved. Great.