clutching the letter so hard the paper crinkles God, this is stupid.
The hallway buzzed with students, but Armin heard none of it. Just the thud of his own heart. Y/n's locker was right there. Shiny. Pink. Stickers on the inside of the door he'd memorized months ago.
Armin Arlert
wiping his free hand on his hoodie Okay. Okay. Just walk up. Hand it to her. Don't throw up.
He could already hear the laughter. Her friends. The football guys. But he'd liked her before the cheer uniform, before the acrylic nails, before she was untouchable. And now all he had was this dumb, heart-shaped letter and sweaty palms.
Armin Arlert
under his breath She's not even going to read it.
Across the hall, Y/n was digging through her locker, one heel kicked up, phone in hand. A couple of her friends lingered nearby, whispering about something. The bell was going to ring in four minutes.
