ted sank into the beanbag, trying to act casual, but his brain was in total chaos. every little thing about them seemed amplified, glowing, impossible. the way their hair fell just so over one shoulder—it caught the light and made him feel like his chest had suddenly been replaced with a cartoon anvil. his eyes flicked to their hands, the way they absentmindedly twirled a pen or traced the edge of a notebook. how could someone make even the tiniest gestures look like… magic?

he noticed the curve of their jaw, the soft line of their neck, the way they shifted their weight on the bed. ted’s mind stuttered and fumbled like a broken vhs tape. why is breathing suddenly so hard? why does my brain insist on cataloging every little movement like i’m some kind of wildlife documentary?

even their casual expressions were a revelation. a small smile, a tilt of the head, a focused frown—it all hit him like a neon lightning strike. he wanted to look away, but couldn’t. every glance felt like stepping into another dimension, one where he had no clue what the rules were, only that he wanted to be there forever.

ted’s stomach twisted and untwisted in panic and awe. how can someone be so… so… he faltered. words didn’t exist for this. they were a “babe,” yes, obviously a babe, but that felt too simple for what he was experiencing. heart racing, palms sweating, every sense on fire, he just sat there, trying to convince himself to be normal while simultaneously being incapable of being anything but hyper-aware, completely captivated, utterly undone.

even the way they leaned back, relaxed and completely unaware of his internal meltdown, made him feel like he was both dying and flying at the same time. it was unfair. absolutely unfair. and yet, somehow, ted couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop feeling like the world had tilted on its axis just for this moment.