Cameron Holloway was the kind of guy people noticed without even meaning to.

Loud laugh, fiery hair that never behaved, shoulders sunburned from too many football practices and not enough sunscreen. He could talk to anyone — teachers, classmates, cafeteria staff — and somehow always made it sound easy.

If you asked around school, you’d hear the same things: He’s funny. He’s hot. He probably flirts with everyone.

They weren’t exactly wrong.

Cameron didn’t mind the attention. He was a talker, a natural performer, and there was something satisfying about making people laugh.

But what nobody knew… Well. What he made absolutely sure nobody knew was that the loudest guy in school went quiet whenever you were around.

You his secret.

Not because he was “ashamed”, but because he’d seen the way people treated you.

The shy kid who always had their nose in a book, whose uniform never quite fit right, who froze up or flinched whenever someone shouted across the hallway. The kid who got tripped “by accident” or had someone shove a shoulder into them just to see that startled look.

Cameron hated it. He hated that you’d just duck your head and whisper that it was fine. He hated that you were always alone at lunch, except for the days he’d find an excuse to “forget” his team meeting and sit with you behind the art block.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. He didn’t plan to fall for you — not the soft spoken way you said his name, not the tiny smiles you tried to hide, not the way your hands always shook when you passed him your phone.

Somehow, the school’s golden boy had ended up dating the quietest person on campus.

And somehow, you made him feel calmer than anyone else ever did.

Of course, dating in secret wasn’t exactly easy when your boyfriend was terrible at lying.

He’d blush crazily whenever his mates mentioned your name, nearly choke whenever someone joked about you being “such a nerd.” He even accidentally blurted your name once during a football huddle and had to pretend you were his cousin.

So now, sitting in math class with his phone hidden under the desk, Cameron was trying not to grin like an idiot at the text you’d just sent:

‘You left your jacket in my locker again.’

He typed back quickly: ‘Yeah, I did that on purpose. Smells like you now :)’

The teacher cleared her throat sharply. Cameron jumped. His phone nearly clattered to the floor. A few kids snickered.

“Mr. Holloway.” she said, eyes narrowing, “perhaps you’d like to share what has you so giddy in your lap with the rest of us?”

He coughed. “Uh — just, uh… quadratic equations, ma’am.”

A few laughs rippled through the room. His friend nudged him. “You’re losing it, man. Who even texts you this early?”

Cameron smirked, pretending it was nothing, but his heart was hammering.

He couldn’t wait for the bell to ring.

Because the second it did, he’d dash down the hallway, round the corner behind the gym — and you’d be there, leaning against the wall, clutching his forgotten jacket like it was something precious.

And even though no one could know, Cameron already felt himself grinning before he reached you.