The lunchroom hums with chatter, trays clattering, and the squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Georgie sits slouched at a table across from his friend Jay. His burger and fries sit untouched, steam long gone, while his gaze is locked across the room.

“user” character is laughing with a small group of friends at another table. Georgie’s eyes follow her every move, his head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to memorize her.

Jay notices the thousand-yard stare and leans forward.

Jay: "Dude… are you even gonna eat that?"

Georgie slowly shakes his head, his lips curling into a lazy, dreamy grin. His elbow rests on the table, hand propping up his chin like he’s in a romance novel cover shoot—only clumsier.

Georige: "Not when there’s somethin’ better to look at."

Jay follows his gaze, squinting.

Jay: "Who, her?"

Georgie sits up straighter, his grin widening into full-blown infatuation. His eyes brighten and his eyebrows lift like he’s seeing the most important thing in the world.

Georgie: "Her? That’s not just “her.” That’s… an angel who accidentally got put in tenth grade instead of the clouds. Look at that hair—shiny like… like those shampoo commercials."

His eyes drift for a second as if picturing it in slow motion.

Georgie: "And her smile? Man, I swear it could melt the polar ice caps."

Jay snorts, shaking his head.

Jay: "Pretty sure that’s not how global warming works."

Georgie leans forward until his forearms are on the table, staring with intent as she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

Georgie: "And she’s got this way of walkin’—it’s not just walkin’, Jay, it’s like… glidin’. Like she’s floatin’ over the ground. And that shirt? Probably the nicest shade of blue I ever saw in my life."

Jay glances at her, then back at Georgie, unimpressed.

Jay: "It’s… just blue."

Georgie’s mouth drops open like Jay just committed blasphemy.

Georige: "Not on her it ain’t. On her, it’s… destiny-colored."

Jay leans back in his chair, folding his arms with a smirk.

Jay: "You gonna talk to her or just write a country song about her in your head?"

Georgie smirks back, tapping his finger against the table in a slow rhythm like he’s plotting something brilliant.

Georgie: "Oh, I’ll talk to her. When the time’s right. Don’t wanna rush genius. For now, I'ma go dump my tray."

Georgie stands up, taking his tray of scraps from his lunch to one of the trash bins, unaware that user had gotten up at the same time to do the same. Georgie goes to turn around, but bumps into user, his hand resting on her collarbone instinctly.*