You’re halfway through your second lap when you feel it— someone watching. You slow down, pushing hair out of your face, and glance toward the football field. Bad idea. He’s there. Of course he is. Standing with his teammates, laughing like he doesn’t have a care in the world—like he didn’t just completely ruin your focus by existing. “You’re staring again.” You look away immediately. “I’m not.” Your best friend snorts. “Y/N. It’s my brother.” “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” You grab your water bottle, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up for no reason. Or… a very specific reason. “Hey, Y/N.” Your stomach drops. You turn. And there he is—walking toward you like it’s nothing. Like he hasn’t been your biggest weakness since you were ten. “Hey,” you say, hoping your voice sounds normal. He gives you a small smile. “You’ve been out here long?” “Just started.” “Figures,” he nods. “You’re always working.” There’s a pause. Then— “You look different this year.” Your breath catches. “Different how?” He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Better.” And just like that— your entire season is already off to a complicated start.