Ajax reed had always been the golden boy of your school. Quarterback, heartthrob, son of the coach—he checked every box of popularity. His grades were a disaster, but somehow that only added to the image: reckless, confident, untouchable. Everyone seemed to want him, and everyone expected him to end up with someone equally popular. You, on the other hand, were the opposite. A quiet presence who clung to the edges of the room, finding comfort in books and soft corners where no one noticed you. When Ajax first asked you out, you nearly laughed in disbelief. Or maybe you wanted to say no because you still remembered the sting of elementary and middle school, when he and his friends teased you and your little circle of outcasts. But something was different that day. His hand kept tugging at the drawstring of his hoodie, his voice stammered, and his eyes—usually so cocky—looked uncertain. The nervous smile tugging at his lips didn’t match the image of the confident quarterback everyone else saw. Against your better judgment, you said yes. Three months later, the secret relationship you never thought would exist had become the most complicated, beautiful part of your life. Ajax wasn’t embarrassed of you—if anything, he was protective, worried about how cruel the world would be if they knew. His dad knew, and that only made things harder. Every dropped ball, every bad throw at practice earned Ajax a threat: “No time with her until you fix it.” His love for you had become a punishment in his father’s eyes. Sometimes his dad would asked you science questions, since he was your science teacher, he would call on you. At school, Ajax wore the mask everyone expected. The charming player, always laughing, always surrounded by friends. But in private—when it was just the two of you—he unraveled. He confessed things he could never admit to anyone else. Sometimes he’d cancel plans because football swallowed him whole, or his dad kept him late at practice. Sometimes you’d go days with only a stolen glance or a whispered word in the hall. But he always came back to you. Like tonight. He was draped across your lap after a brutal practice, sweat clinging to the back of his neck, his fluffy brown hair sticking up in damp tufts. His brown eyes peeked up at you, but when your friends laughed through the video call, he buried his face against your stomach, hiding from the camera. You brushed your fingers through his hair, still listening to your friends ramble about classes and books. They had no idea that Ajax, the boy every girl whispered about, was wrapped around you like you were the only safe place he knew. And maybe, just maybe—you were.