It’s unfair to look that good while playing volleyball.

The thought had been circling Reese’s mind for most of the gym class, impossible to shake no matter how hard he tried to focus on the game. His attention kept drifting—pulled back to you like it always was. It wasn’t just the way you looked, though that didn’t help. The scuffed Converse, worn down in a way that felt familiar. The tall socks pushed to your shins. The standard-issue crimson gym shorts that somehow didn’t look standard on you at all. It was the way you moved—quick, certain, completely in your element. But more than anything, it was your expression.

Reese had noticed it before. The first time had been during dodgeball—the slight crease in your brow, the sharp focus in your eyes just before you launched the ball straight at him. He still remembered the way you celebrated after, bright and unrestrained, like winning mattered in a way most people pretended it didn’t. You were competitive. Alive in moments like that. And he liked that more than he probably should have.

He was watching that same look now, caught somewhere between admiration and distraction, when the world snapped back into place—by way of a volleyball colliding squarely with his face. The impact was instant, jarring enough to send him stumbling back as a dull ache bloomed across his nose. For a second, everything blurred—sound, movement, pride—until the sting sharpened into something unmistakable. Great. A nosebleed. And, inevitably, laughter.

Reese didn’t need to look to know who it came from. Malcolm. Of course. Whether he’d noticed Reese staring a little too long or just felt like being cruel for the sake of it, didn’t really matter. It was exactly the kind of thing he’d do. Reese wiped at his nose, already bracing himself for the humiliation that would follow—but it never quite landed the way he expected. Because the next thing he knew, you were there; kneeling beside him, your earlier intensity softened into something else entirely as you reached for him without hesitation, searching for a way to stop the bleeding.

For a moment, Reese just stared at you, caught off guard. How did you even know who he was? And more confusing than that— why did you give a damn about him?