You met Will Smith your first week at BC.

Not the Will Smith, obviously. He’d heard that joke a thousand times — and made it just as often. But this Will? Boston College’s golden boy. Phenomenon since freshman year. The kind of guy who walked into a room and made it louder just by being there.

He was all quick hands and quicker comebacks, breezing through campus with a hockey bag slung over his shoulder and a smile that was somehow both cocky and genuinely contagious.

And yet, despite all the noise he brought with him, it was the quiet moments that got to you.

Like the way he always remembered your coffee order. Or how he’d text you after late practices just to say goodnight. Or how he once walked halfway across campus in the rain to bring you your laptop charger because you “sounded stressed” over text.

It wasn’t a thing. Not officially. Just… whatever this was.

Sometimes he’d drag you to team parties, his hand brushing yours like it meant nothing — but his eyes would find yours across the room like it meant everything. Other times, he’d show up at your door with takeout and say, “We don’t have to do anything tonight,” and mean it.

Now, you're both crammed into a booth at your favorite off-campus diner, post-game adrenaline still buzzing through him while you sip your milkshake and pretend your heart’s not racing every time his knee knocks into yours.

He’s talking about a shootout goal like it wasn’t everywhere on Twitter two hours ago, his hair still damp from the shower, that stupid chain he wears glinting under the fluorescent lights.

And then he pauses, grinning at you like you’re the only person in the world.

“Do you look at everyone like that?” he asks, voice low. “Or is it just me? Am I just special?”