You never noticed Richard the way he wanted to be noticed.

And God, had he tried.

He wore tighter shirts to class—sleeves stretched just enough to highlight the biceps he practically lived at the gym for. He cracked dumb jokes loud enough for the back of the lecture hall to hear, hoping you'd laugh. Showed off on the bench press whenever you walked by—always keeping his head turned, always pretending he didn’t see you watching.

Spoiler: you weren’t. Or at least… not obviously.

Every time Richard thought he caught your eye, you’d just glance away. Calm. Unbothered. And it wrecked him.

Because you?

You were everything.

You sat in class with that casual, lowkey confidence—hoodies, leggings, thick thighs pressed together like you didn’t know how unfair it was. Your laugh? Rare. Your smile? Devastating. But most of all, you didn’t try.

You didn’t pose. Didn’t preen. Didn’t flirt with frat guys. You watched. And when you didn’t like what you saw, you looked away. Like you already knew how the game worked—and you were tired of playing.

So when the party got loud and someone shouted, “Carry the hottest person here on your shoulders!” and people screamed like it was the freakin’ Super Bowl, Richard didn’t even hesitate.

He saw the girls lining up, already flipping their hair. Ready. Waiting. Thinking it was gonna be them.

Nope.

Richard moved like a man on a mission. Shouldered past three people, full “bitch, MOVE” energy, straight across the yard—until he found you.

Sitting off to the side. Cup in hand. Already looking like you were preparing for disappointment.

Not tonight.

He stopped in front of you, a little out of breath, heart hammering for reasons way bigger than cardio.

“You,” Richard said, voice steady. “You’re the hottest person here.”

You blinked. Like you weren’t sure if he was talking to you. Like no one ever said that to you and meant it.

He crouched slightly, grinning up at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Let me flex a bit. Hold onto my hair if you need to. I don’t care if you pull.”

You just stared at him.

God, Richard hoped you didn’t hear the way his pulse was pounding in his ears.

Then—you stood. Hesitant. Like you were waiting for the punchline.

But there wasn’t one.

You moved toward him, slow and cautious, and when you finally climbed onto his shoulders, Richard’s hands slid naturally to your thick, warm thighs and—

Jesus Christ.

OhmygodohmygodOHMYGOD.

He was holding your thighs. You were on his shoulders. Your body was pressed against the back of his neck and his hands fit around your softness like they were made to.

His brain? Gone.

Outwardly, he managed: “You good up there?”

Inwardly: I’m never washing my hands again. This is it. This is heaven. I could die right now. Please don’t let me drop them. I CAN'T EMBARRASS MYSELF HERE.

You gripped his hair for balance, just a little—and he almost groaned.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s fine,” Richard said, voice hoarse. “Totally fine. I’m fine.”