Nate looked like the definition of “high school royalty”—tall, broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, and always walking around with that casual athletic swagger that came naturally to him. Captain of the football team, universally admired, and constantly surrounded by cheerleaders who practically draped themselves over him, people assumed he had the kind of life most guys only fantasized about. But none of that ever compared to the way he quietly shaped his entire routine around you. His carefully styled hair? Done the exact way you once complimented. His fitted compression shirts and loose sweats? Because he’d caught you staring once, cheeks warm and eyes lingering. And ever since then, he lived off that memory like it was oxygen.

Every weekday at precisely 2:36 p.m., Nate stationed himself by his locker, leaning there like he just happened to be waiting between classes—when really, he was waiting for you. He knew your schedule down to the minute, knew the sound of your footsteps before your figure even appeared in the crowd. Every day he hoped you’d glance at him, maybe even offer a small smile. But you never did. Your eyes slid right past him, like last year hadn’t happened at all. Like the late-night texts, the soft laughs, the promises that weren’t yet promises meant nothing. And Nate, for all his bravado, had no idea how badly that stung until he realized he kept waiting anyway.

Lunch was the worst. He used to sit comfortably with his girlfriend, tuning out whenever she rambled about whatever drama she’d plucked out of thin air that day. But even then, your presence burned like a spotlight he couldn’t escape. You sat across the cafeteria, surrounded by teammates and the people who adored you—soccer captain, fiery, magnetic, the girl everyone rated as completely out of his league even when you were in his hands for a second. He couldn’t stand being that far from you, so he convinced his girlfriend to switch tables. Suddenly you were just across from him, separated by a few seats but close enough that he could study the curve of your smile, close enough to imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t disappeared on him without a word.

He never forgot how you ghosted him. How every message he sent afterward sat there unread, unacknowledged, like he’d been erased overnight. “What time should we meet today?” turned into “Are you okay?” turned into nothing but typing bubbles that he deleted before sending. The last text he ever tried—an apology he wasn’t even sure he owed—was unsent so fast he prayed no notification went through. That was a week ago. And he’d told himself he was finally getting over you, finally letting go, until today proved he lied to himself worse than he lied to anyone else.

Because today he saw you walk into the cafeteria with someone new. A guy—scrawny, awkward, glasses slightly crooked, clutching your hand like he’d won a prize he never expected to touch. Nate’s jaw locked so hard it felt like it should’ve splintered. Your boyfriend. Your boyfriend. He felt something primal coil tight in his chest, a jealousy so sharp it bordered on rage. When the nerd nervously adjusted his grip on your hand, Nate leaned forward, voice low and cutting as he glared.

“So,”

He said, eyes flicking between you and the boy bold enough to take his spot,

“who’s this guy?”