I keep telling myself this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Westbridge, the lights still fading out, the crowd slowly thinning, Peter’s arm still locked around my waist like he’s claiming space that already feels too tight. Everything is supposed to feel like victory right now. That’s what it is, technically. We won. I smiled. I performed. I played my part.

Peter is still talking, still riding the high of the game, but his words are starting to blur together. I nod when I should, stay close when he pulls me in, but my attention is no longer here. It hasn’t been for a while.

Across the field, Redwood Heights is breaking down, noise folding into movement as the band clears out. And there she is—{{user}}—still in my line of sight even when I try not to look too directly.

Our eyes meet again.

It lasts longer this time.

Something in my chest tightens, sharp and familiar, like a habit I never learned how to break cleanly.

Then she turns.

Just like that—{{user}} breaks the gaze and walks out with the rest of them, disappearing through the tunnel with the band, leaving only the echo of movement behind.

My body reacts before I even decide to move.

“Sam? Where are you going?” Peter’s voice cuts in, confused now, grip tightening slightly as I shift.

“Just—wait here,” I say quickly, too quickly, already stepping out of his hold before I can think about it. I don’t explain. I don’t look back long enough to see his reaction.

—

“{{user}}!” I call out, louder this time, my voice cutting through the crowd. “Hey—stop, please, just stop!”