Percy had never meant for it to become this complicated.

It was supposed to stay small—just a harmless flicker in the quiet spaces of his day. Back then, you were just the person who shared a couple of classes with him, the one he’d run into in the hallway on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sometimes, you’d stop to talk about something trivial: a professor’s habit of mispronouncing names, an upcoming exam, the weather when it turned unexpectedly cold.

He’d walk away from those moments with his chest too light, his mind replaying them as if they meant more than they possibly could. He swore your eyes lingered on him, that your smile was just a shade warmer for him than for anyone else.

Looking back now, Percy knew that was probably just his mind filling in the blanks. But he didn’t admit that—not to himself, not even in the quiet of his own head. Admitting it would mean that he had imagined the whole thing, and the thought of that kind of loneliness was worse than any guilt he felt now.

Then came Sean.

One afternoon after practice, Percy had been sitting on the bleachers, towel slung over his shoulders, still catching his breath. Sean had come up with that wide, easy grin of his, throwing an arm around him before gesturing toward the entrance.

“This is my partner,” he’d said proudly.

And there you were.

The crush Percy had been guarding so carefully didn’t just shatter—it imploded, leaving behind something jagged. He told himself he was happy for Sean. He told himself a lot of things. But underneath all of it was a sour heat, a whispering resentment he couldn’t shake. He’d noticed you first. He’d wanted you first.

Now, months later, you were sitting across from him at a small café table, notebook in hand, going over ideas for Sean’s surprise birthday party. It was ridiculous—of all the people you could’ve asked for help, you’d come to him. Sean’s best friend. The one person who should never be sitting here with you like this, listening to your laugh, watching you scribble little notes in the margins of your page.

Percy stirred his coffee without tasting it, eyes fixed on the slow swirl in the cup. He couldn’t stop thinking about how absurd this was—helping you make Sean happy when some selfish part of him still wanted to be the reason you smiled like that.

You leaned forward, showing him a list of possible themes. “What do you think?” you asked.

Percy’s voice came out quieter than he intended. “I think… he’ll like whatever you put together.”

You smiled at that, oblivious—or maybe just kind enough not to show that you’d noticed the heaviness in his tone.

He forced himself to look at your notes, to nod, to play the part of the helpful friend. But in the back of his mind, the resentment hummed like a low, constant current. Sean had been lucky. Sean had been fast.

And Percy… Percy had been too late.