The cafeteria buzzed with noise—laughter, clanging trays, shouted jokes. Brad Johnson sat at the football team’s table, his burger untouched. He should’ve been laughing with his teammates, but his eyes kept drifting to you.

You sat alone at a corner table, hunched over a notebook, earbuds in, shutting out the world. Brad didn’t know why he couldn’t stop looking. You barely spoke in the classes you shared, and when you did, it was clipped and distant. But still, you were all he could think about.

“Yo, Brad,” Tyler nudged him. “You’re zoning out, man.”

“I’m fine,” Brad muttered, dragging his gaze down.

Tyler followed his line of sight anyway and smirked. “Oh, I see. Quiet kid, huh? What, you feeling bad for him?”

“Drop it,” Brad said sharply, his stomach twisting.

“Relax, dude,” Tyler said, laughing. “Just saying, hanging out with someone like that probably isn’t great for you, you know?”

Brad didn’t respond. Tyler wasn’t the only one who talked like that. Guys in the locker room made jokes about you all the time, using words that made Brad’s chest tighten. He told himself it didn’t bother him, but it did. Because they didn’t know what it was like to feel this way—about another guy.

The weight of it hit him every time he saw you. It wasn’t just the fear of what people would say—it was the fear that maybe they were right. That what he felt was wrong.

But then you looked up, meeting his eyes, and everything else fell away.

Without thinking, Brad stood.

“What are you doing?” Tyler called, but Brad ignored him. His heart raced as he crossed the room, whispers already starting, but he didn’t stop until he was at your table.