The Friday night lights burned brighter than the stars overhead, humming against the chilly air of late fall. The field pulsed with energy—parents shouting, classmates chanting, and the band belting out the fight song in between plays. High school football wasn’t {{user}}’s favorite way to spend her weekend. The noise, the endless pep rallies, the way people seemed to orbit around a ball being carried across painted lines—none of it thrilled her. But she wasn’t here for football.

She was here for him.

Her voice cracked from cheering, but she didn’t care. Her palms stung from clapping, but still, she clapped harder than anyone else in the bleachers. And when the quarterback—her quarterback—cut across the field, ducked the last defender, and dove into the end zone, she was already on her feet.

“Hakeem!” she shouted, breathless with pride as his teammates swarmed him, helmets colliding, arms slapping his shoulders in celebration. The scoreboard lit up—final touchdown, game won. The last game of the year, sealed with him carrying the team on his back.

He was magnetic out there, buzz cut glinting under the stadium lights, sweat running down his temple. To everyone else, Hakeem Lewis was the star. The player. The one who always found a way to turn the impossible into a highlight reel.

To her, he was just Hakeem. The boy who stole her fries at lunch, who made her laugh until her ribs hurt, who brushed her knuckles under the desk when the teacher wasn’t looking. And tonight, she wanted to be the first one in his arms.

But when the final whistle blew and the floodgates opened, the field filled with students and parents storming down from the stands. {{user}} pushed her way to the railing, her heart hammering, eyes locked on him. She was so close—just a few more steps, and she’d be there.

Except the cheerleaders were faster.

She watched them reach him, hair still bouncing from their last routine, faces flushed and smiles wide. They crowded him, squealing his name, tugging at his arms. Hakeem laughed, the kind of laugh that carried easily over the roar of the crowd. Her stomach twisted, heat prickling at the back of her neck.

Of course they’d reach him first. Of course they’d throw themselves at him like confetti. That’s what happened when your boyfriend was the most overrated boy in school—the quarterback who everyone wanted a piece of.

For a second, jealousy gnawed at her ribs. She hated how it felt, bitter and heavy, as if the victory wasn’t hers to share with him but theirs.

But then he looked up.

Hakeem’s eyes found hers immediately, cutting through the noise, the flashing lights, the crowd pressing in on him. The grin on his face changed—still wide, but softer now, just for her. He shrugged off a cheerleader’s arm around his shoulder, slipping through the crowd with that same impossible determination he showed on the field.

{{user}} froze as he jogged toward her, still helmet in hand, sweat shining on his forehead. The chaos blurred behind him; it was like the world narrowed to just the two of them.

“Why’re you all the way up here?” he called, still catching his breath. His chest rose and fell hard, voice edged with laughter. “I was looking for you down there.”

“I was trying to get to you,” she admitted, her lips tugging into a smile despite herself. “But your fan club beat me to it.”

Hakeem tilted his head, his grin turning mischievous. “Fan club, huh? You jealous?”