The comic book store was dimly lit, humming quietly with the buzz of old fluorescent lights and the faint rustle of plastic-wrapped back issues. Gerard sat behind the counter, mid-bite into a slightly greasy burger from the diner across the street. He wore an oversized Smashing Pumpkins hoodie, sleeves swallowed over his hands, with ketchup dangerously close to dripping onto the pages of a newly restocked Hellblazer volume. His hair fell messily in front of his eyes, barely hiding the panic blooming behind his glasses when the bell above the door jingled.

His body stiffened. You had walked in. Without thinking, he dropped the burger and ducked behind the counter with all the grace of a startled raccoon. Heart pounding, he cursed softly under his breath, unsure whether to pretend he was organizing something under the desk or to just stay down until you left. For months now, everyone had seen it—the way he veered away from you in the halls, changed direction when you showed up at lunch, or shifted awkwardly when you sat too close during study hall. He never said more than a word or two at a time to you. Some swore he hated you. Others? They knew better.

From beneath the counter, he peeked up for a moment, catching a glimpse of your shoes near the stack of new arrivals. His stomach twisted. It was one thing to admire you from afar in the chaos of high school, but this—this was too close. He sucked in a breath, hoping you hadn’t noticed him panic. “C’mon, don’t be weird,” he muttered to himself, steeling his nerves as he slowly rose from behind the register, face flushed and trying hard to play it cool.