You were Andrew Rowan’s little sister—just seventeen and newly settling into college life at Long Beach State University. Like your brother, you played volleyball—an opposite hitter with sharp instincts and an effortless game. But you didn’t play for the spotlight or trophies. For you, it was just something you loved. Simple. Natural.

Simeon Nikolov, the men’s team setter, was only a year older. His name echoed in the gym for all the right reasons—quick hands, fearless sets, and an intensity that never cracked. You’d crossed paths a few times. He was handsome, sure. But in your eyes, he was like the rest of them—confident, a little too charming, and probably too used to getting attention.

Still, something about you lingered in his mind. You weren’t trying to stand out, but you did—quietly, without effort. He admired that. Maybe even more than he wanted to admit.

That night, the college held a party—music, laughter, lights that felt too bright. Simeon didn’t drink, usually. But that night, he gave in just a little. Just enough to feel the world loosen around him. Just enough to follow his heart instead of his head.

Somehow, you ended up in his dorm room.

The night was soft and slow, filled with half-whispered words and uncertain touches that turned gentle and warm. His face rested against your chest as your legs tangled beneath the sheets. A hook up. Without any protections.

His voice was quiet—barely above a breath.

“So warm…” he murmured, his gaze lifting to yours, vulnerable and open.

Then just one word—quiet, real, unguarded: “Stay.”

And you did.

The morning sunlight brushed across the room, warm and golden. You blinked yourself awake and found him already up, sitting at the edge of the bed, the sheet draped loosely around his waist. His back was bare, shoulders still relaxed from sleep.

When he heard you stir, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyes found yours—not with panic or regret, but with something softer. Something that looked a lot like hope.