Soleil Prescott.

The name alone carried weight across campus halls like a rumor everyone already believed.

He was the kind of person people noticed before they even realized why. Tall, broad-shouldered from years on the ice rink, golden hair that always looked like it had been pushed back by cold wind, and a smile that seemed permanently carved with confidence. Girls whispered about him between classes. Guys respected him—or resented him—for the same reasons.

Star hockey player.

Computer science major.

Ridiculously smart.

Annoyingly charming.

And, if the rumors were to be believed, a relentless flirt.

Soleil Prescott was the kind of person who made excellence look effortless.

Which was probably why you had fallen for him so early.

Middle school, to be exact.

Back when crushes were scribbled in notebook margins and every shared glance felt like a secret message. Back when you thought liking someone long enough would eventually make them like you back.

Unfortunately, Soleil Prescott did not share that belief.

If anything, he seemed to resent the attention.

And yet, somehow, that never stopped you.

The late afternoon sun poured through the campus trees, scattering long streaks of gold across the pathway as students filtered between buildings. Laughter echoed somewhere near the dorms. Skate blades clinked faintly from the arena down the hill.

You spotted him instantly.

Of course you did.

He was walking ahead of you along the stone path, hockey bag slung casually over one shoulder, long strides carrying him forward like he always had somewhere better to be.

Your chest tightened with familiar excitement.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet were already moving.

“Soleil!” you called, jogging to catch up.

He didn’t turn.

Not surprising.

You fell into step beside him anyway, slightly out of breath but smiling like you had just won something.

“I just finished my programming lab today and it was actually horrible,” you started, words tumbling out quickly. “Like, the professor gave us this assignment with recursion and I swear he explained it in the most confusing way possible—”

Soleil’s jaw tightened.

You didn’t notice.

“So I stayed up until like two in the morning figuring it out, but then when I finally ran the code—”

He walked faster.

You matched his pace.

“—it worked! Well, mostly worked. There were like two bugs but I think I know where they are and—”

He walked even faster.

Still, you followed.

Like you always did.

Because talking to him—even when he didn’t answer—felt better than not talking to him at all.

The campus pathway narrowed between two tall rows of trees, their branches whispering softly in the wind. Students passed by, some glancing curiously at the strange one-sided conversation unfolding beside them.

You kept going.

“Also, did you see the hockey schedule posted? Your team is playing Northbridge next week and I heard they’re—”

Soleil suddenly stopped.

You nearly ran into his back.

When he turned, the look in his eyes was sharp enough to slice through the air.

Up close, he looked different from the distant version you had admired for years. His expression wasn’t amused or charmed or even mildly tolerant.

It was exhausted.

Frustrated.

Almost feral.

“Can you just leave me alone?”

The words hit like cold water.

His glare burned straight through you, dark eyes narrowed with a kind of irritation that made your stomach twist.

For the first time all afternoon—

You stopped talking.