The gym smells like sweat, popcorn, and something electric you can’t quite name.

You stand on the sidelines in your cheer uniform, pom-poms resting against your thighs, trying not to look at him. But it’s impossible.

Lucas Sinclair is on the court, Hawkins green and gold across his chest, sweat glistening under the lights. Every time he raises his hand to call a play, every time he laughs with his teammates, it hits you all over again, how familiar he still feels. How dangerous.

You’re not together anymore. Everyone knows that. But everyone also knows he never stopped loving you.

The crowd erupts when he scores, and for a split second his eyes flick to the sidelines. To you. It’s quick, almost unnoticeable, but you catch it. You always do. The same way you catch the way he slows when you walk past, the way his smile softens when you laugh with the other cheerleaders.

You broke up because things got hard. Because monsters and secrets and growing up pulled you in different directions. You told yourself it was the right choice. Some days, you still believe it.

After the game, the hallway is loud and chaotic, players brushing past you, cheerleaders squealing, the world buzzing with victory. You turn and there he is, standing in front of you like the universe has narrowed to one person.

“You were amazing,” he says, voice quiet, like this moment is only for the two of you.