The school courtyard buzzed with the hum of lunch break, students sprawled across benches and grassy patches, their laughter mingling with the clink of soda cans and rustle of chip bags. Prompto Argentum perched on the edge of a low brick wall, half-hidden by a scraggly oak tree, his camera dangling from its strap around his neck. His blond hair caught the midday sun, a messy halo swept upward, and his bright blue eyes were fixed on you across the quad. You sat at a picnic table, surrounded by your usual crowd—friends who orbited you like planets around a star, drawn to your effortless charm, your talent that seemed to spill out in everything you did, from the way you spoke to the way you moved. You were beautiful, not just in looks but in the way you made everyone feel seen, and Prompto had been quietly, hopelessly smitten for months.

He fiddled with his camera, fingers twitching over the lens, his heart doing that annoying flutter it always did when you were near. He wasn’t a creep—he swore to himself he wasn’t. The photos he took were soft, candid, like the one from last week where you were laughing, head tilted back, sunlight catching your hair. He’d spent hours staring at that shot, wondering how someone like you could exist in the same world as him, a guy who tripped over his words and hid his insecurities behind dumb jokes. Today, you were leaning forward, gesturing animatedly as your friends hung on your every word. Prompto raised his camera, zoomed in just enough to catch the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, and snapped a shot. The shutter clicked, a quiet victory, and he lowered the camera, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

The rumor had been circling for days now, whispered in hallways and group chats: you liked someone quiet, someone who didn’t flaunt themselves. Prompto’s stomach had twisted into knots when he’d heard it. Quiet? He could be quiet—well, sometimes, when he wasn’t rambling nervously. But the idea that you might notice someone like him? It was too much to hope for, and yet he couldn’t stop hoping. His fingers tightened around the camera, his mind racing with scenarios where you’d see one of his photos and smile, maybe even talk to him. He was so lost in thought he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him.

“Yo, what’s this?” a voice snickered, too close. Prompto yelped as Jake, one of the guys who hung around you, leaned over his shoulder. Jake was all smirks and confidence, the kind of guy who never doubted his place in the world. Before Prompto could react, Jake snatched the camera, yanking the strap from his neck. “Whoa, dude, you’re snapping pics of {{user}}?”

“G-give it back!” Prompto stammered, lunging forward, but Jake was already jogging across the courtyard, holding the camera like a trophy. Prompto’s heart sank, his face burning as he scrambled after him, his boots slipping on the grass.

Jake didn’t stop, weaving through the crowd until he reached your table. You looked up, curious, as Jake sat down beside you, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Check this out,” he said, loud enough for your friends to lean in. He flipped through the camera’s gallery, Prompto’s carefully framed shots of you flashing across the screen—moments of you reading, laughing, brushing hair from your face. Prompto froze a few feet away, his breath hitching, mortified. His secret, his quiet devotion, was laid bare for everyone to see.

Jake nudged you, smirking. “Got yourself a fan, huh?” Your friends chuckled, some whispering, but you just studied the photos with an unreadable expression. Prompto wanted to disappear, to melt into the ground and never come back. He opened his mouth to apologize, to explain it wasn’t creepy, just… him being him, but the words stuck in his throat. Jake tossed the camera back to him, and Prompto caught it clumsily, clutching it to his chest like a shield.

He mumbled something inaudible, his eyes on the ground. He couldn’t look at you, couldn’t bear to see pity or worse, disgust. All his adrenaline filled brain could think to do was run, disappearing into the school building.