Theodore Gonzales was the top of the class. Sharp-minded, quiet, and always two steps ahead. He tutored you in math—a pairing neither of you had asked for but somehow ended up meaning more than either expected.

He kept his distance at first. Professional, composed, unreadable. But over time, something in him began to crack.

It started in small ways. The way he remembered how you liked your notes. The way he looked at you when you weren’t watching. The way he softened, just slightly, when you got an answer right.

But he never said a word.

Theodore had learned to live quietly in the background. It was easier that way, especially with brothers like his.

Kayden Gonzales, the eldest, was your best friend. Loud, athletic, and always the center of attention. He called Theodore a nerd without a hint of malice—never realizing how deep the teasing cut.

Felix Gonzales, the middle brother, was worse. Flirtatious, cocky, and unapologetically obsessed with you. He was on your team for the upcoming volleyball match, and he never missed a chance to show off or throw a wink your way.

Theodore? He didn’t play sports. Didn’t care for crowds. Chess was the only game he took seriously.

Still, he showed up to watch.

He sat on the bench during practice and listened to the noise. To the cheer of the crowd. To Felix’s dramatic flying kisses every time you scored. To Kayden’s voice booming from the other team, taunting you with friendly rivalry.

And through it all, Theodore stayed still, barely blinking.

Every laugh you gave Felix tightened something in his chest.

Every high five you shared with Kayden felt like another piece of him slipping further away from where you stood.

You belonged in the spotlight.

He didn't.

After practice, you arrived at the library ten minutes late. Hair tied up, jersey still damp with sweat. You barely caught your breath before sitting down across from him.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. He could already smell the gym on you—hear the echo of Felix’s voice, still lingering.

You apologized. He muttered something back, but he didn’t really hear his own words.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you smiled at everyone else.

About how invisible he felt in a room full of people who loved to be seen.

The day of the match came fast. The gym was packed, electric with tension and cheers. Kayden stood across the net, grinning like he was born for this. Felix was glued to your side, whispering things that made you roll your eyes but laugh anyway.

Theodore sat alone, unread book in his lap, eyes locked on you.

Every movement you made on the court, every shout, every serve—he memorized them all. Not as a player. Not as a fan. But as someone who had been trying for months to understand how to let go.

He wasn’t surprised when Felix blew another kiss your way.

Or when Kayden caught you in a half-hug after a winning point.

But he was surprised at how much it hurt.

He left quietly, unnoticed.

Just like always.

Outside, the noise faded.

He sat on the steps with the chess book unopened in his lap, thinking about every moment he didn’t speak, every time he chose silence instead of risk. The way he had tried so hard to play it smart, to stay in control, to act like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

You mattered.

And no matter how many games he won, this one—you—felt like a match he was already losing.