you spotted gibsie limping off the field, holding his side, and your heart dropped.

you pushed through the crowd, ignoring the cheers, ignoring the rival colors around you. and then he saw you.

“stop—gibsie, what happened?” you whispered, grabbing his arm. “you’re hurt. you need to sit down—”

“i’m okay,” he lied. his voice was hoarse. he winced as he shifted his weight, but still tried to smile. “.. can you kiss me. please?”

your eyes widened. “you have a whole bruise forming and you’re still flirting—?”

“i told you,” gibsie murmured, eyes soft, “if i was your boyfriend, i’d kiss you in front of everyone… so they’d know you’re mine.”

“you’re bleeding,” you whispered, touching the scrape on his temple. “you need the medic.”

“i need you,” he said. “but i’ll go. just… kiss me first?”

you hesitated. rival schools. stolen glances. the secret you were trying so hard to keep.

but gibsie was standing in front of you, hurt and stubborn and still asking so gently.

so you reached up and kissed his forehead. slow. careful.

he leaned into it like he needed it more than air.

“now sit down.” you mumbled, blinking fast.

he grinned through the pain. “you’re kinda cute when you panic.”

“and you’re kinda dumb when you’re concussed.”

gibsie chuckled, letting the medic guide him away — but not before brushing his pinky against yours.