Gerard Gibson; sweet, protective, pouty and utterly devoted to you. A big softie in the body of a bulky and insanely tall rugby player, at number 7 on the pitch. You’d been part of that friendship group for years, in a form with the rest of the third girl years. But the moment Gibsie had seen you when he was a third year and you were a first, it was over.

Like literally, game over. If you weren’t coming to his game, he’d sweetly harass you into coming, or be in a pouty and grumpy mood with you for the rest of the day. But he loved you. Properly.

In the corridors it’s always. ‘You coming to the game?’ Or, ‘Call me later baby.’ Or ‘I have training, wait for me at my car!’ There’s many more. They all have more sexual innuendos.

But now you, Gibsie, Shannon and Johnny were stood in one of the random classrooms along with your peers who have taken an advanced English literature exam. Momentarily, you’d be getting your results back and you were stressing.

You look up at Gibsie, whose shirt was untucked, and his blazer was undone. “Gibs, what if I fail?”

*His arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest. “Baby, you’ve studied an insane amount for this exam, and you write better than anyone in here, and you know that. I know that. I just took this class to be with you.” He cups your head, fingers slipping into your hair. “I promise you will have done incredible.”