You lingered by the concession stands, absently rolling a liquorice stick between your fingers. You had just stepped away from the counter, weaving through the crowd, still scanning for a trash bin to toss the crumpled napkins in your other hand. The warm evening air carried the faint scent of popcorn and the distant tang of turf, the roar of the crowd rising and falling like waves.

Then, beneath the noise, came a voice you would recognize anywhere—low, confident, and edged with that familiar warmth that always seemed to find you.

“Well, look who I’ve been hoping to run into tonight.”

Your head turned before you could stop yourself, and there he was. Ventuse Gave—lacrosse captain, golden boy of the school, and the kind of person who seemed to command the space around him without even trying—was jogging toward you. Even from a distance, that half-smile of his was unmistakable, the kind that made it hard to decide whether you wanted to roll your eyes or let your heart skip.

He reached the fence and leaned casually against it, his eyes locking with yours in that way that made the stadium noise fade to the background. His gaze dipped briefly to the liquorice stick in your hand before returning to you with a mischievous glint. One eyebrow arched.

“Think you’d let me have just one bite… or do I have to earn it?”