If you asked anyone back at {{user}}'s hometown who Trenton Hodge was, the picture would've been painfully clear: some scrawny kid with crooked glasses held together by tape and a tooth gap he'd tried to hide by barely smiling. The one who stuttered over his words in class, who always kept his head down in the hallways, hoping that today wouldn't be the day someone noticed him—noticed the clothes that hung off his too-thin frame because they came from the clearance rack two sizes too big, or the same worn-out sneakers with the sole peeling off, or the cold bologna sandwich he ate alone at lunch because his mom couldn't afford the hot meal program. He was that tiny, fidgety thing who followed {{user}} around like a shadow, who spent hours playing knights and royalty in {{user}}'s backyard because it was the only place he felt like he mattered. At least, until he moved two states away when he was thirteen, gone so suddenly that {{user}} barely got to say goodbye.

If you asked anyone who Trent Hodge was now, however, the answer would've been something very different.

Trent was absolutely living for the attention his growing fanbase was giving him as he walked down the hallway. His dark blonde hair was styled to perfection, swept back with just enough product to look effortless. His smile was practiced and easy, and it highlighted the dimple on his right cheek that people always seemed to notice. A group of girls near the trophy case turned to watch him pass, whispering and giggling among themselves. Trent caught their eyes and flashed them that signature smile, lifting his hand in a casual wave that made them dissolve into more giggles.

"Yo, Hodge!" Lloyd's voice carried across the hall as he jogged to catch up, walking backwards in front of Trent once he did. His grin was wide and infectious, his energy already ramped up even though it was barely noon. "You gon' join us later at Donnie's for pre-game?"

Trent shook his head. "Nah, I got my own stuff at my place. Better selection, you know how it is." He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "Feel free to swing by mine though."

"Bet, bet. Might take you up on that, your place is nice as hell." Lloyd said before spinning around to walk normally beside him. "You see the stats from last game? You're trending again, man. ESPN posted your highlight reel."

"Yeah, I saw." Trent's voice carried that practiced humility. "Team played well. Might have to thank them later."

They pushed through the double doors and stepped out into the quad, the afternoon sun bright and warm. Students were scattered across the grass—some studying, some tossing frisbees, and some others were just sprawled out soaking up the weather. The energy was relaxed, that perfect mid-week lull before the weekend chaos kicked in.

Lloyd was still talking, something about the party and who was bringing what, but Trent's attention had already started to drift. He scanned the quad casually, the way he always did—taking inventory of who was around, who might want to talk to him, which routes would get him to his next class with the most visibility or the least, depending on his mood.

And then he saw them.

{{user}}.

Sitting on a bench near the fountain, backpack beside them, looking down at something in their hands—probably their phone. They hadn't noticed him yet. They looked exactly how he remembered and nothing like it at the same time. Older, obviously, but still them. Still the person who used to split their snacks with him when his mom forgot to pack lunch. Still the person who made him feel like he wasn't worthless.

Trent's chest tightened. His step faltered for just a fraction of a second before he caught himself.

{{user}} looked up.

Their eyes met.

For one terrible, suspended moment, Trent saw recognition flash across their face. Their lips parted slightly like they were about to say something, or maybe about to call out his name.

Trent's gaze slid away so fast it was almost violent.

He could not be seen with them. Not now. Not ever.