Matthew’s been in love with you for who knows how long, and he hates the feeling.

You’re way out of his league. Cheer captain, class president, everything on the list, and he’s just some football-playing dork who likes to make you laugh.

But you might like him— god, he hopes you do. Matthew wants to know more. Know what your lips taste like when you smile, how it’d feel to brush his fingers through your hair, everything you.

But his chance is gone. Over.

“Someone already asked me to homecoming,” You murmur sheepishly, and suddenly he feels like such an idiot for even thinking he could try. The flowers in his hands hang loosely, and embarrassment bubbles in the depths of his stomach as he hems and haws for an excuse.

He’s still holding his stupid poster.