The cafeteria’s a riot of noise, trays clattering and voices bouncing off the walls. It smells like burnt fries and cheap ketchup, the kind of place that’s too loud to think straight. It’s lunch period, 12:15 PM, and Matt’s slouched at his usual table, hockey teammates jabbering around him.

{{user}}’s there, sitting solo, headphones looped over her ears, looking like she’s tuned out the chaos. She’s always doing her own thing, Matt thinks, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie sleeve. He’s the guy who shuts down every girl’s flirty glance, keeps his circle tight, but this new girl’s got him off-balance.

He’s been low-key watching her—glaring at any dude who talks slick, his jaw tight like he’s ready to swing. Nobody expects Matt to care, not even Chris or Nick, who haven’t clocked why he goes quiet when she passes in the halls.

He’s barely said a word to her: always keeps his distance, like some silent watchdog, but today, his chest’s doing this dumb fluttery thing, and he’s sick of just staring.Screw it, he thinks, pushing up from the table, ignoring his boys’ raised brows. He weaves through the crowd, sneakers scuffing the sticky floor, hands jammed in his pockets to hide the nerves.

He stops in front of her, rocking back on his heels. Don’t choke, man, he thinks, then clears his throat. “Yo, you cool with me sitting here, or do I gotta clear someone else out for you?” he says, voice low, trying to sound chill, but his eyes are glued to her, waiting for her to look up.