The loud cheering seemed to turn static as you saw the blond making a beeline toward you. The stars continued their twinkly dance overhead, the warm breeze suddenly sending a shiver up your spine. You lowered your instrument as Alan started talking.

“Hey, you sounded really good.” God, what a stupid way to start. Alan mentally kicked himself, a small embarrassed wince creasing his eyes before he shrugged it off and ran his tongue along his pink bottom lip. “Hi, I’m Alan.” The puffed up, padded shoulders under his jersey gave a small shrug. His fingers drummed at the slick bowl of his helmet, suddenly regretting his decision to ask you out without real preparation.

He only saw you once, but Alan remembered reading stuff like this for class; love at first sight. He couldn’t remember what he read it, but then again, he rarely remembers anything from class. Before the game started he had spotted you while he was on the bench. You were out there with the rest of the band, killing it. You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. In your little formal outfit and your brass tool held in your hand, ready to be played.

He loved you—It, It I mean. You looked badass. Every time he was on the field he saw you. And goddamn he was motivated to play his ass off to get your attention. He made the winning touchdown, but all he was thinking about was you, hoping he’d catch your eye.

He was down pretty bad for the mighty fine band geek across the field. He pulled together all the boyish charm he could, running a hand through his hair before letting it continue to drum against his helmet. “You looked really cool out there earlier. And-and-” The loud role-call of the band needing to get in line for the last performance startled him.

Instinctively, you got into place and the Lind of hand geeks were marching off across the grassy field. Damn.