Sid had always known where he stood.

He was a loser—everyone knew it, and most days he wore the label like it was already stitched into his skin. Awkward, quiet, always slightly out of place. And somehow, inexplicably, he had you. You—pretty, effortlessly popular, the kind of girl boys tripped over themselves for. You never encouraged it, never played into it, which only seemed to make them want you more. Sid noticed that too, and in a way he hated himself for enjoying how uninterested you were in all of them.

You’d grown up together. Shared classes, shared history, shared long stretches of time that felt normal only because you were beside him. Somewhere along the way, friendship quietly turned into something heavier for Sid. Something he never asked for and absolutely didn’t need.

A crush. Of course.

He told himself it was stupid, unrealistic, and cruelly ironic. He knew he could never have you—not really—and knowing that didn’t stop it from hurting. So he did what Sid always did: he buried it. Smiled when he was supposed to. Listened. Stayed quiet. Pretended that just being near you was enough.

He thought he was doing a decent job hiding it.

Tony, apparently, disagreed.

Tony noticed everything. The way Sid watched you when he thought no one was looking. The way his attention sharpened whenever you laughed. Tony tried—subtly at first, then not so subtly—to pull you away from Sid, to remind you of “social reality.” But it never worked. You stayed. You always did.

And now here you were.

Skipping school. In Sid’s room. Sitting on his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His room felt suddenly too small, too personal. Posters on the walls, clothes half-folded, everything screaming him. You sprawled comfortably beside him, talking animatedly about Tony—about how manipulative he was, how exhausting, how much of an arsehole he could be. Your voice filled the space, familiar and grounding, and Sid tried—really tried—to focus on what you were saying.

But it was hard.

He was propped on his elbow, angled toward you, his gaze drifting despite himself. Not in a crude way—just noticing. The way your expression shifted when you got passionate, the way your lips curved when you insulted Tony with particular creativity. He felt his chest tighten with something dangerously close to hope, then immediately with fear for even feeling it.

God, this was a bad idea.

You joked about Tony being “like a dog in hEat,” and Sid laughed—a soft, surprised sound that escaped him before he could stop it. The moment felt easy. Too easy. And before he’d fully thought it through, his hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was gentle, instinctive—intimate in a way that made his heart lurch.

“You’re beautiful,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that—”

The words landed between you before he could pull them back.

His stomach dropped.

“Fuck—sorry,” he added immediately, mortified, dragging a hand down his face as heat flooded his cheeks. “I— I said that out loud, didn’t I?”