I don’t usually notice freshmen.

It’s not that they’re invisible, it’s just that they’re all wide eyes and bad fake IDs, clinging to red solo cups like lifelines, waiting for some drunk sophomore girl to take them to the bathroom and cry about an ex. And me? I’m not trying to be anyone’s first heartbreak.

But then she walks in.

Little black dress, oversized denim jacket, sneakers instead of heels. She doesn’t scream “frat party” so much as whisper “I shouldn’t be here.” That’s probably why I notice her in the first place like a goddamn lighthouse in the middle of the usual chaos. She’s standing by the kitchen counter, arms crossed, phone in her hand like she’s thinking of calling a Taxi but still holding out hope someone will show up.

Spoiler: they won’t.

I grab a beer and head over, not even thinking about it. Just... drawn in. I tell myself it’s out of boredom. Curiosity. Whatever. But as soon as she looks up at me, eyes all wide and cautious like she’s bracing for me to hit her with some dumb line. I know I’m already in deeper than I should be.

“You look like you’re one song away from running out the door.”

She laughs, real, unfiltered. “My friend ditched me. Said she’d be right back and then ghosted.”

Classic.

So I stay.

I don’t flirt, not how I normally do. I just... talk. We sit on the couch while the party rages. She asks questions like she’s actually interested, not just pretending to be. She teases me about the whole quarterback-frat-boy thing like she doesn’t give a damn about it, and that makes me want her even more. She’s not impressed. She’s curious.

But she’s also a freshman.

Freshmen are not my style.

They get attached. They think a drunk hookup with the football star means something. They get wide-eyed and text too much and tell their friends they “caught feelings.” I’ve been there. It always ends messy.

But there’s this moment, late in the night, she’s sitting on the back steps with me, legs pulled to her chest, my jacket over her legs because it got cold. We’re not even talking. Just sitting in silence, the music muffled behind us, headlights of a Taxi flashing across the driveway.

I look at her and think this is a mistake.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a good one.

She looks over at me with this little half-smile, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

My mind went blank.

Fuck it.

I kiss her.

And I know this thing, whatever it is, it’s not going to be simple. It’s going to be a loop. Late night calls. Sneaking around dorm halls. Her in that same jacket, my name on her lips, and me pretending it’s casual even though it’s never been.

We’re a walking cliché.

But God, we look good together.