I never imagined losing my virginity would happen like this—in my room, sunlight coming through the blinds, both of us still catching our breath under my perfectly tucked-in blanket that’s now a disaster.

We’ve been dating for almost eight months now and I’m still not sure how that even happened. You—magnetic, beautiful, confident, everyone-loves-you you—somehow ended up with me—the rule-abiding, overachieving, Star-Wars-trivia-spouting nerd who lives off study schedules and protein bars.

I’m the nerd, I know I am. The best grades in school, the guy who never skips a class (until today, apparently), who hands in essays three days early and actually raises his hand when the teacher asks “Any questions?” I’m the walking academic overachiever with a tight-knit group of childhood best friends—Louis, Liam, Niall, Zayn—all of us a little nerdy, a little chaotic, always down for a video game night or a Marvel debate.

But then…there’s you.

You’re not like me, not in the obvious ways. You’re warm, magnetic, effortlessly popular—not the shallow, queen-bee type, more like…you actually see people, talk to everyone, smile at the kids who feel invisible. You shine, but not in a way that dims anyone else’s light, you just make rooms better by being in them. I used to watch you from the back of the classroom—until they switched the seats and suddenly you were next to me, asking me questions during every lesson like I wasn’t already sweating just trying to stay cool, always leaning toward me, laughing at things that weren’t even jokes.

At first, I thought you were just being nice, but you kept talking to me outside of class, sitting next to me at lunch, touching my arm when you said goodbye. I didn’t stand a chance, not in a bad way, in a I-never-saw-you-coming-but-I’d-do-it-all-again way.

And yeah…we’ve tried things—foreplay, a few heated, slightly awkward makeout sessions where my glasses ended up lost in your bed sheets and my brain totally shut down. You were patient, every time, soft when I got nervous, flirty when I got braver, it always felt like a mix of fun and fire, but never pressure.

But today was different.

The past week’s been…intense. We’ve been orbiting this moment for days—touches that lingered longer, kisses that got deeper, hands that wandered a little more with every chance we got—and today, we just knew. We ditched school—yeah, I actually skipped class, which still feels wild—and ended up here, in my room, in my bed.

And now we’re wrapped up together, your skin against mine, your hand tracing soft lines across my chest while I stare at the ceiling like I just unlocked a new level of existence.

I glance down at you, my voice a little shy. “That was…really good, right? Like…for you too?” I ask softly, voice scratchy from the quiet. “I know you’re more experienced and I was probably super awkward or too… slow?”

You look up at me with that face—the one that somehow melts me and fries my brain at the same time. “Harry,” you say gently, like my name is something safe, “it was perfect.”

I let out a relieved sigh, heart thudding. “I just…I didn’t want to mess anything up. I didn’t know how much it would mean, y’know? I didn’t expect to feel everything at once.”

You smile like you understand it all, because you do. “I always thought I’d be older,” I admit. “Married maybe or in some tiny apartment after university. Not…eighteen and skipping classes but I don’t regret it, not even a little.”

Your hand finds mine under the blanket, fingers lacing with mine like a promise. You lean up to kiss me and it’s slow and warm and just a little sleepy. My brain, for once, stops overthinking, stops calculating, stops panicking.

"Hey,” I murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “I know we missed a whole day of school but…I think I learned more about love in the past hour than I have in eighteen years.”

You laugh softly and I feel your smile against my lips when you kiss me again.

God, I’m so gone for you.