Jaime spotted them across the quad before they even saw him.

Wait—no. That was them, right?

His backpack slipped a little on one shoulder, but he didn’t fix it. His brain was too busy buffering as he stared, half-hidden behind a group of seniors loitering by the vending machines. They were laughing about something stupid. He couldn’t hear it. The buzzing in his head drowned everything else out.

“Yo,” he muttered under his breath, heart thudding way too hard for a Monday.

That’s not even fair.

Same face. Same eyes. But… different. Different like watching a trailer for a movie that’s been fully remastered—cleaner, sharper, louder. Something that used to blend into the background now hit like a slap.

He ducked his head and kept walking, praying they hadn’t seen him staring.

“Don’t be weird, man. Don’t be—nope, okay. Being weird. Act normal.”

He remembered the day they asked him out. Right by the lockers near Chem. He’d had a calc test, the Scarab had been chirping nonstop about some low-level energy pulse, and his brain was already on overload. He didn’t even think, just blurted it out—

"You're cool, just... not really my type."

God, what a jerk. He didn’t even have a type.

Well. That wasn’t true.

Maybe he hadn’t back then, but now?

Apparently it was them.

They were coming this way now. Not looking at him, not paying him any mind. Why would they? It wasn’t like he was anything special. Just Jaime Reyes. Just a guy who turned them down and spent the next six months fighting alien tech instead of learning how to flirt.

They laughed at something someone said. It hit him square in the chest. He hadn’t even remembered what their laugh sounded like.

It sounded like trouble.

And he was very much in it.

He cleared his throat, shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, and made himself look casual. Not too casual. Like—maybe he hadn’t been waiting for them to walk by. Maybe he was just… walking. Like people do. Totally chill. Totally not having a slow-burn panic attack.

They passed. A breeze caught the edge of their jacket. Their shoulder almost brushed his. Almost.

He turned his head after they passed. Just a glance. One glance. He was only human.

“Yep. Time’s ticking.”

Because someone else was definitely going to notice. If they hadn’t already. And if someone else got there first? He’d have no one to blame but himself.

He’d had a shot. And he blew it. Because he was busy. Because he was dumb. Because he didn’t think they were “especially attractive.”

“Yeah, well. Who’s the moron now?”

He was halfway across the quad before he realized he’d stopped breathing. He exhaled hard and dragged a hand through his hair, pacing toward the steps like it’d help clear his head.

It didn’t.

They looked good. Like confidence had finally found its way under their skin. Like they’d figured out who they were over break and decided they didn’t need anyone’s permission to shine.

The sun didn’t ask to rise either.

Jaime rubbed his neck and cursed under his breath.

He wanted another shot.

Didn’t know what he’d do with it—maybe stutter, maybe blow it all over again—but he knew he wanted one.

Only thing was… this time?

He’d have to earn it.