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Yourusername Milan, you have my heart... and I guess @/Fernandomendoza does too 💌

Fernandomendoza Love you always Pinned by author

User1 Shut the fuck up

User2 The best hard launch ever WHAT?

User3 She literally won gold AND him 😭

They’d grab coffee between classes, falling into easy conversation about assignments, professors, campus gossip. “You’re overthinking that essay,” he’d tease lightly, nudging her shoulder with his. “I literally watched you explain the whole thesis out loud in five minutes.”

“Yeah, but writing it is different,” she’d sigh, rolling her eyes. “You just like pretending you don’t stress about anything.”

“I don’t,” he’d shrug, lips twitching. “I just deal with it.”

She’d narrow her eyes at him. “That’s not normal.”

“Maybe. But I show up, don’t I?” he’d say quietly, and the weight behind it would soften her.

They got lunch more often now too—little routines forming without either of them naming it. The same table outside the student center. The same shared fries. Sometimes their conversations would dip into deeper waters—childhood memories, fears about the future, half-spoken questions about what they were becoming to each other. But if it got too close to that night, one of them would instinctively pivot. Not out of avoidance, but out of preservation.

There were moments, though—small, suspended ones—when the memory hovered between them. Like when she’d reach for his hand in crowded spaces without thinking, fingers curling around his like it was second nature. He never pulled away.

On the surface, everything was normal. Study sessions. Practice schedules. Coffee runs. Shared jokes. But underneath it all, something had shifted—something steadier, heavier, more intentional. They hadn’t talked about that night. They didn’t need to. It lived in the way he waited for her to unlock her door before walking away. It lived in the way she texted him when she got home safe, even if he’d just been with her five minutes ago.

Normal had returned.

Thanksgiving break came quicker than she expected, and suddenly she was packing up her apartment, folding sweaters into her suitcase while Miami sat warm and waiting on the other end of a short flight. From her point of view, leaving felt heavier than it should have. Fernando had walked her to her car the morning she left, hands tucked into his hoodie, trying to act casual about it.

“I’ll fly down a few days after you,” he had said, nudging her suitcase into the trunk. “Coach won’t let us out until Wednesday night because of practice.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against the car door. “Absolutely ridiculous. It’s just a few days.”

“Yeah,” he replied, but the way his jaw tightened said otherwise. “You’re going home.”

She laughed softly. “Yeah well, my dad’s working on Thanksgiving anyway. Double shift.” Her tone shifted a little when she said it—something smaller, more resigned. “So it’s just me and takeout.”

Fernando had gone quiet at that. Really quiet. Then he looked at her like he’d already made a decision.

“Come to mine.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Thanksgiving. With my family.” He said it simply, like it was obvious. “My mom still asks about you every time we call. And Max keeps asking when you’re coming over again.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “He literally said, ‘Did she forget about us?’”

Her chest tightened at that. “Max said that?”

“Yeah,” Fernando huffed a quiet laugh. “He misses you. They all do.” His expression softened. “You don’t have to be alone, you know. If your dad’s working, you shouldn’t be sitting in that house by yourself.”

She looked down for a moment, heart doing that slow, heavy thing it had started doing whenever he showed up for her without hesitation. “Are you sure?”

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him even in the morning breeze. “You’ve been part of my family since we were six. My mom would actually be offended if I didn’t invite you.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Your mom already treats me like I’m hers.”

“Exactly,” he said gently. “So come over. Eat too much. Let my dad argue about football. Let Max show off whatever video game he’s obsessed with this week. Just… be with us.”

The thought of it—of walking into his childhood home again, of hearing his mom’s voice in the kitchen, of Max barreling into her for a hug—made something warm bloom in her chest. Miami suddenly didn’t feel so empty anymore.

“Okay,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. “I’ll come.”

And the way Fernando smiled—slow, relieved, almost proud—made her realize that Thanksgiving wasn’t just about not being alone. It was about belonging somewhere. And somehow, she had always belonged a little bit with him.

Thanksgiving morning felt different this year. She stood in front of her childhood bedroom mirror in Miami, closet doors thrown open, bed covered in rejected outfits. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Fernando’s family a hundred times before—but this felt new somehow. Softer. More intentional. She finally settled on a white fitted tank tucked into a black midi skirt, wearing white ballet flats, something simple but flattering, paired with delicate gold jewelry her mom had given her years ago before she had passed. She wanted to look like herself. Comfortable. Familiar. Someone who belonged.

Her phone buzzed.

Fernando: I’m outside. And before you say it—yes, I’m early.

She smiled despite herself, grabbing her pumpkin pie dish from the kitchen—she’d insisted on bringing something, even if his mom would pretend she didn’t need to. When she stepped outside, Fernando was leaning against his car, hands in his pockets, watching the front door like he’d been counting the seconds.

He straightened the moment he saw her.

For a second, he just looked at her.

“You clean up nice,” he said casually, but his eyes were warm, slow, appreciative.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s Thanksgiving, not prom.”

“Still,” he shrugged, opening the passenger door for her. “You look good.”

The drive felt easy—windows cracked slightly, Miami air warm even in late November. He told her about practice, about how Max had been talking nonstop about her coming over. She felt her nerves settle the closer they got.

When they pulled into his driveway, her chest tightened in that nostalgic way. The house looked exactly the same—pathway lights still lining the walkway up to the porch, faint music drifting from inside. Before she could even unbuckle, the front door flew open.

“Fernando! Is she here?!” Max’s voice carried.

The door swung wider and there he was—taller now, but still unmistakably the same energetic little brother.

“She’s here, idiot,” Fernando muttered with a grin.

She barely had time to step out before Max was jogging toward her. “You actually came!” he said, pulling her into a hug without hesitation.

“Of course I came,” she laughed, squeezing him back. “You think I’d miss your dad’s yearly football rant?”

He grinned. “It’s worse this year.”

When they stepped inside, the familiar warmth hit her immediately—the smell of roasted turkey, cinnamon, and something buttery baking. And then she heard it.

“Is that my girl?”

Fernando’s mom rolled into the hallway from the kitchen, her wheelchair smooth and practiced against the hardwood. Her smile was wide, eyes already shining.

The sight of her made something in (Y/n)’s chest ache in the best way.

“Hi, Mrs. Mendoza,” she said softly, walking forward.

“Oh don’t you dare ‘Mrs. Mendoza’ me,” she scolded gently, opening her arms.

(Y/n) crouched slightly so they could hug properly, careful but familiar. His mom held her tightly, one hand brushing over her hair like she had when she was little.

“Look at you,” she said warmly. “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Mom,” Fernando groaned lightly from behind them.

“It’s true,” she insisted. “And you’ve been hiding her from us.”

Fernando felt his spine lock up almost immediately. A subtle heat crept up the back of his neck. He straightened instinctively, shoulders pulling back like he’d just been put on the spot in front of an audience. 

His dad appeared from the dining room, already holding a drink. “There she is,” he said with a proud nod. “Now it’s Thanksgiving.”

She smiled, greeting him before being ushered further inside. In the living room sat Fernando’s grandparents—his abuelo in his usual armchair, abuela beside him, both bundled in light sweaters despite the Miami warmth.

“Come here, mija,” his abuela called.

She walked over, kneeling beside them, accepting soft kisses on her cheeks. His abuelo squeezed her hand warmly. “Fernando finally brought you home,” he teased.

Fernando stood a few steps back, watching the whole thing quietly—the way she blended into the space so naturally, the way his mom wouldn’t stop looking at her, the way Max hovered nearby like a clingy puppy.

At one point, as she helped his mom in the kitchen—reaching shelves she couldn’t, handing her mixing bowls—his mom looked up at her knowingly.

“You know,” she said softly, lowering her voice, “this house has always felt fuller when you’re in it.”

(Y/n)’s throat tightened slightly. “It feels like home here.”

Across the kitchen, Fernando’s eyes found hers, and for a suspended moment, everything else faded—the clatter of pots, the murmur of conversation, the hum of the oven. Over the warm steam curling from the stove, over the laughter and chatter spilling from the living room, his gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. It carried a quiet acknowledgment, a recognition of years spent side by side, of shared memories, of unspoken understanding. In that fleeting connection, something unshakable passed between them, a certainty that hadn’t needed words to exist. She wasn’t just visiting—she wasn’t simply a guest in this house or in their lives. She belonged here, in every laugh, in every story retold, in every gentle glance exchanged across the room. 

The night had settled softly over Miami by the time Fernando pulled away from his house. The laughter, the clinking dishes, his mom calling out reminders to take leftovers—it all still echoed faintly in her head. She sat in the passenger seat, watching the city lights blur past the window.

Instead of turning toward her neighborhood right away, he took a familiar turn.

She noticed instantly. “You’re going to the park.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just… for a minute.”

A few minutes later, he pulled into the small park they’d grown up going to—the same one with the faded basketball courts and the parking lot where he taught her how to park—while she gripped the steering wheel so tightly. It was nearly empty, just the hum of distant traffic and the rustle of leaves in the warm night air.

He turned off the engine but left the windows cracked. Silence filled the car—not uncomfortable, but heavy with everything the evening had stirred up.

“That was nice,” she said softly, breaking it first. “Your mom looked really happy.”

“She was,” he replied, glancing at her. “She said you looked nervous when you walked in.”

“I was nervous,” she admitted with a small laugh. “It felt… different.”

“Different how?”

She hesitated, staring at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know. Like everyone was looking at us differently.”

Fernando leaned back in his seat. “Maybe they were.”

She turned toward him. “Why would they?”

He shrugged, but there was something tight in his jaw. 

The air shifted.

She swallowed. 

He let out a short breath through his nose. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re ignoring completely what’s going on between us. Like you’re not part of it.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. What? “I’m literally sitting here, Fernando.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Back in high school you did the same thing—ignore what’s going on”

Her expression hardened slightly. “Why are you bringing up high school?”

“Because it’s the same pattern,” he replied, voice sharpening. “You pretend you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”

She stared at him—trying to figure him out. “You mean when you stopped talking to me for months? And during that time, I found out that the girl you were talking to at the time was Lily?”

Who the fuck is Lily? He thought to himself, “I didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You absolutely did and what was I supposed to do? You shut me out!” she shot back. 

“I was going through a lot,” he said, frustration bleeding through. “At the time, I just needed to focus on football.”

“You could have communicated that to me but you didn’t.”

“Well…I can’t go back in the past and rewrite everything.”

She shook her head slowly, hurt flickering across her face. 

He exhaled sharply. 

Her door handle clicked before he could process it.

“What are you doing?” he asked quickly.

“I’m not doing this,” she said, voice tight but controlled. She pushed the door open, warm night air rushing in. “It’s ten minutes to my house.”

“Are you serious?” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Get back in the car.”

“No,” she said, stepping out onto the pavement. “You don’t get to bring up old stuff and then act like I’m crazy for being upset.”

“I’m not saying you’re crazy,” he insisted, leaning across the center console. “I’m saying we never talked about it.”

“And whose fault was that?” she shot back.

He didn’t answer fast enough.

She shoved the car door closed harder than she meant to, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet park. The slam vibrated up her arms, but she didn’t flinch. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself—not because the night air was cold, but because something inside her felt cracked open and unguarded. Like every old insecurity, every unsaid word from years ago, had suddenly been dragged into the open.

“(Y/n),” he said, frustration melting into something closer to panic now. “Don’t.”

She stepped back from the car, letting the door click softly behind her. “I need air,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper, though there was steel underneath it. The night wrapped around her as she started walking down the sidewalk, the faint hum of traffic in the distance and the occasional rustle of leaves from the trees lining the park creating a rhythm that matched the quickening beat of her heart. The streetlights stretched long shadows across the pavement, painting everything in sharp angles, turning the familiar park into something slightly foreign, almost like a stage for the tension that had finally spilled over.

Fernando stayed in the car for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel as if it could anchor him, staring straight ahead, though his mind replayed every word of their argument. The way her face had tightened when he’d brought up high school, the way her voice had snapped, the way her shoulders had stiffened—he felt it all like a punch he couldn’t dodge.

(Y/n) finally made it back to her house, the weight of the evening pressing down on her as she closed the front door behind her. The quiet of her childhood home felt almost suffocating after the tension at the park, and she felt the knot in her chest tighten again. She kicked off her shoes and made her way to her room, letting herself collapse on the bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling as her thoughts spun in circles. The argument, the unresolved words, the memories of high school—all of it pressed against her like a storm she couldn’t shake.

How could the night turn into something like this? She was just with his family—helping his mom and abuela cooking a thanksgiving feast, Max showing his video games collection to her, and easing into a conversation with his dad about how different Bloomington is from Miami. Now? She doesn’t know what to feel anymore. 

Eventually, she forced herself up, moving mechanically into the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was a relief, steam curling around her, washing away the remnants of the night. She leaned into the heat, letting the water pummel her shoulders as if it could rinse away the ache in her chest. Each splash and rush of water was a kind of quiet meditation, allowing her mind to slow just enough to breathe, to let herself feel without unraveling completely. 

When she finally stepped out, the mirror fogged from the steam, she toweled off, letting her hair fall naturally around her shoulders. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to feel the raw vulnerability of being alone— no expectations, just her alone in her home. She slid into her cheeky blush pink cotton thong—nothing else. The white towel—she had just used to dry herself—was still in her hands, the cool air of the room making her shiver slightly.

She had turned back into her room, and dropped her clothes into a laundry basket, that’s tucked away in the corner of her room. Then she heard it—the faint slide of her window. Her heart caught in her throat before she had time to react. A shadow moved across the sill, familiar and impossible. 

Fernando.

“What—Fernando?!” she whispered, her voice a mixture of shock and disbelief, clutching the white towel tightly around herself. She hadn’t realized just how small it felt until now, pressed against her body with him standing there.

He paused for a fraction, one hand bracing against the frame of the window as he climbed inside, careful, deliberate. His eyes were wide and earnest, glinting in the low light of her room. “I—I needed to see you,” he said, voice low and slightly hoarse, like he’d been holding back weeks of words all at once. “I came to apologize. For tonight. For everything.”

(Y/n) instinctively stepped back, holding her towel tighter around herself, heart hammering. She wasn’t sure if it was the proximity, the surprise, or the flood of emotion that made her knees feel weak. “Fernando… you can’t just—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace, careful not to overstep. “I’m not here to make things worse. I just… I can’t leave it like this. Not like this.” His eyes softened, scanning her face for any sign of how she was feeling, and something in her chest thudded at the intensity of his focus.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am,” he said, voice low, trembling slightly with the weight of what he was about to say. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away back then. I thought I was doing the right thing… and I know how wrong that is now.” He paused, letting the words hang between them, his gaze never leaving hers. “During the distance… when I was at Berkeley, I couldn’t stop wondering how you were doing. I wanted to know if you were truly happy, if life was treating you kindly. And… if I’m being honest,” his voice softened, almost breaking now, “when I went through the transfer portal, when I had to make that choice about Indiana, you were the only thing I could think about. Nothing came close. Ever since high school… maybe ever… I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. Not this deeply. Not with this much—” He struggled for a word, his chest tight. “—care, this much wanting, this much… everything. You completely consume me, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at him, her mind trying to catch up with everything he had just laid out in front of her. The room felt impossibly quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for her to respond. Fernando searched her face for something—anything—but all he saw was the same stunned stillness.

He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders giving way to resignation. “Okay,” he murmured, forcing a small, defeated nod. “I… I just needed you to know.” His voice was gentler now, like he didn’t want to push her any further. 

He turned toward the window, bracing one hand against the frame, preparing to climb back out the same way he came in. But before he could lift himself onto the sill, he felt it—the sudden warmth of her hand wrapping around his arm.

He froze.

Slowly, he turned back toward her, confusion flickering across his face, and that was when she closed the small distance between them.

Her lips met his before either of them could second-guess it.

For a second, the kiss was tentative—almost hesitant—like both of them were still trying to understand that it was actually happening. Her hand tightened slightly on his arm as she leaned into him, and Fernando’s breath caught in his throat at the contact.

Then something shifted.

Years of unspoken feelings, of missed chances and distance and longing, seemed to collapse into that single moment. Fernando’s hand instinctively found her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, slow and warm and full of the kind of emotion neither of them had ever dared to put into words. Her lips were soft against his, and he could feel the faint tremble in her breath as she pressed closer, like she was finally letting herself fall into something she’d been holding back for years.

The world outside the room faded—the hum of the night, the quiet house, the faint breeze slipping through the open window. All that existed was the warmth between them, the way her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, and the steady, grounding presence of him holding her like he had been waiting to do it forever.

When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t sudden. It was slow, reluctant—like neither of them really wanted to let go. Their foreheads nearly brushed, their breaths still mingling in the small space between them.

Then, all at once, something else registered.

His eyes flickered downward for just a second before quickly darting away again.

She was standing there wrapped only in a towel.

The realization hit him like a delayed wave. The soft white towel was loosely tied around her chest, the fabric still slightly damp from her shower. A few droplets of water clung to the ends of her hair, sliding slowly down her collarbone. The room suddenly felt warmer, the quiet more charged than it had been seconds before.

“I—uh…” he started, clearly flustered now, his voice suddenly rougher than before. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“Maybe I should—” he started, gesturing vaguely toward the window again.

But before he could finish the sentence, something impulsive sparked in her chest.

“Nando,” she said softly.

He looked back at her—and that was all the time she gave him to react.

She pushed him backward, surprising him enough that he stumbled a step before landing on the pink lounge chair tucked into the corner of her room. The chair creaked slightly under his weight as he blinked up at her in shock.

“Whoa—”

As he looked up at her, she smirked and dropped the soft white towel that’s been casing over her body. 

Fernando was taking in her soft curves—the way the small pink, cotton fabric was wrapped around something sacred of hers. She used the pads of her thumbs to grab the side of her thong and gradually stripped it off of her body. 

Blood quickly rushed to his face and he felt something throbbed.

He was taking it all in. He would be lying to himself, if he said that he hadn’t imagined scenarios like this with her plenty of times. 

(Y/n) stepped forward and climbed onto his lap, leaning down toward him as her hands slid up to the sides of his face. The moment his brain caught up to what was happening, his hands instinctively found her bare waist to steady her.

(Y/n) leaned down to kiss the right side of his cheek—then the left. She continued to kiss down the column of his neck until the neckline of his shirt was blocking where she wanted to drag on. 

“Take off your shirt, Nando,” She breathed out. 

Fernando briskly sat up, with her still on his lap, and he grabbed the ends of his shirt to pull it off and threw it on the floor aside from them. 

(Y/n) gently pushed him back down to resume brushing soft kisses down his chest and abs. Her lips found the edge of his jeans—she peeked up at him. 

Her eyes pleaded with him if it was okay. “Please… (Y/n),” he begged. 

He watched as she sat up a bit—her fingers gently undoing the button and zips of his jeans. She hooked her fingers onto the fabric of his waistband and boxers, then tugged on it. 

Fernando slightly elevated himself and helped her tug his jeans and boxers off. 

Her eyes widened at the sight of the length of his cock. She had a feeling that he was going to be substantially large but now she thinks there’s no way he can fit. 

Fernando could pinpoint exactly what she’s thinking, “hey, it’s okay… just take your time,” he reassured. 

(Y/n) had lowered her head and licked from the base of his cock to the head of it. “Yes…” he groaned. He raked his fingers through her hair, making a makeshift ponytail, guiding her head down slowly and carefully—like he was scared to hurt her. 

She took that as a sign to delve in more and hollowed her cheeks up and down on his cock repeatedly. She would swirl her tongue around him occasionally and looked up to make eye contact with him. 

Fernando melted at the sight—ohh… this is definitely much better than what I would imagine, he thought to himself. 

He groaned when she had taken her lips off of him and used his thighs as a leverage to sit up a bit. Her lips were soft, flushed, and slightly swollen, and he couldn’t help but feel a quiet pride knowing he was the one who’d left them that way. 

He watched her brush the back of her hand across her chin to wipe away a stray drop of saliva and couldn’t help but chuckle softly when she caught him staring. “What?” she breathed, cheeks flushed.

“Nothing,” he said, voice low and warm, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her giggle faded into something softer, a slow, deliberate breath that made Fernando’s chest tighten. Without breaking eye contact, she leaned in, pressing herself closer until the warmth of her body brushed against his. Then, almost instinctively, she moved, straddling his lap. The sudden closeness made his hands twitch, hovering for a moment before settling on her hips, steadying her.

(Y/n)’s lips met his again, and the kiss was urgent, deep. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if she could somehow make up for all the time they’d spent apart in just this one moment. Fernando’s breath hitched, his lips moving against hers with equal intensity, a mix of awe, relief, and a fierceness he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

Instinctively, she grinded her hip down onto him, coating him in her slickness, and he moaned into the kiss. She then sat up and positioned his cock at her entrance, sinking down slowly. Her breath hitches as he stretched her, inch by inch, filling her completely. She paused—staring at his hazed eyes. She then rolled her hips to adjust and he had rotated his head back, on the lounge chair, murmuring about how perfect she is. 

(Y/n) placed both of her hands on his chest for leverage, and steadily, she moved her hips up and down. “Please…you have no idea how amazing you feel,” Fernando breathed out, placing his hands on her hips to guide her. He studied her face—eyes hazed out, lips still swollen from earlier—then he looked down to see her gripping him like a vice. He could just melt at the sight of her like this—it was like he wanted to capture this image and store it somewhere safe. 

When (Y/n) noticed him studying her, she leaned forward, pressed her lips on the side of his neck, using her tongue—sucking on the softness of his skin. Fernando hissed. (Y/n) quickened her pace, bouncing up and down. His hands grazed down her back. He bucked his hips up, thrusting hard into her. She lost her rhythm—letting him take the lead. 

“C’mere,” he murmured softly.

Before she could ask what he meant, his arms wrapped around her thighs and he lifted her up from the lounge chair. She instinctively looped her arms around his shoulders as he stood. 

“Nando—” she started, breathless. “Relax,” he said quietly.

He carried her a few steps across the room toward her bed, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. When he reached the bed, he lowered her down carefully onto the mattress, his movements slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want to rush a single second of this moment. For a brief second he just looked at her there—hair slightly messy, cheeks flushed, and lips still swollen. 

Something in his expression softened.

Then he leaned down again, one hand bracing beside her on the bed as his lips found hers once more—this kiss slower, deeper, filled with tenderness. “Fernando–,” she broke from the kiss, “I want you now.” Her legs tighten around him, as a sign for him, and he pressed forward to close the small gap between them.

“You’re so good to me, yeah?” He breathed out as he pushed into her. Each inch felt impossible, as he entered her again—she dug her nails that created crescent shapes deep into his back. He eased into her even more, every movement he did—he made sure she was more than okay. 

“Please… Nando—go deeper,” she moaned out to him. Something inside of him complied to her, he pressed even deeper, her body arched up to meet his slow thrusts. Every movement between them softened by the weight of everything they had been holding in for years. Fernando moved with a quiet kind of care, like he was aware that every touch mattered, every brush of his skin against hers carrying more than just the moment itself. 

Through every shiver of her shoulders, every quiet intake of breath, he stayed close, never pulling away, guiding the rhythm of the moment with a patience that made her feel safe rather than rushed. It felt less like something fleeting and more like something inevitable, as if every year they had spent without each other had been leading them here—wrapped together in the quiet of her room, where the only thing that seemed to matter was the way they fit so naturally together. 

Morning arrived slowly, the soft gold of sunlight slipping through the half-open blinds and stretching across the bed. The room was quiet except for the faint rustle of sheets and the distant hum of the neighborhood waking up. Fernando had woken first, though he hadn’t moved much since. He was lying on his side, one arm loosely wrapped around her, holding her close against his chest.

(Y/n) was still tucked into him, her head resting beneath his chin, hair fanned softly across the pillow. At some point during the night she had curled closer, one leg draped lightly over his, her hand resting against his shirt like she had instinctively reached for him in her sleep.

Fernando looked down at her for a long moment, something quiet and thoughtful settling in his expression. His thumb moved gently along her arm, absentmindedly tracing small circles against her skin, the kind of soft, grounding touch that came naturally to him.

After everything that had happened the night before—the argument, the apology, the kiss, the years of tension finally unraveling—this moment felt almost surreal in its calmness.

When she stirred, it was subtle at first. Her nose brushed lightly against his chest as she shifted, letting out a soft breath before her eyes slowly opened.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice still rough from sleep.

She blinked up at him, taking a second to remember where she was—then the faintest smile touched her lips when she realized she was still wrapped in his arms.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

For a moment neither of them moved. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It was warm, comfortable—the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other deeply.

Fernando brushed a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering near her cheek.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded, though her voice came out a little quieter than usual. “Yeah… I am.”

He studied her for a second longer, like he was making sure she really meant it.

Then he exhaled slowly, the seriousness in his expression returning.

“There’s something I want to say,” he began.

She shifted slightly so she could look at him better, propping herself up a little on his chest.

Fernando hesitated for a second—not because he didn’t know what he felt, but because he wanted to say it right.

“I’ve spent a lot of years pretending I could move on from you,” he said quietly. “Or that what I felt back then would fade eventually.” His eyes stayed locked on hers. “But it never did.”

Her breath caught slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t want to keep pretending anymore,” he continued. “Not after last night. Not after finally being honest with you.”

His hand slid gently to the back of her neck, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin.

“I want to be yours,” he said simply. “Not halfway. Not just when it’s convenient. I mean really yours.”

The words hung softly in the air between them.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he added, his voice quieter now but steady. “And if you’ll let me… I want to stop wasting time pretending we’re anything other than what we’ve always been meant to be. Just let me be yours, (Y/n).”

The room fell still again, the morning light warm against the sheets as he waited for her answer, his hand still resting gently against her skin like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he saw the way her expression softened—how her eyes, still heavy with sleep, warmed in a way he remembered from years ago. Instead of answering right away, she lifted herself slightly, one hand sliding up to rest against his cheek. For a moment she simply looked at him, like she was taking in the weight of everything he had said. 

Rachel’s gaze flicked between them, catching Fernando staring at (Y/n) — while she sets utensils on the table. “You know,” Rachel began casually, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “she pretends she’s all responsible and put-together now…”

Fernando raised an eyebrow. “Pretends?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Emily cuts in. “Should we tell them?”

From across the yard, (Y/n) glanced over suspiciously. “Why are you whispering?” she called.

“Nothing!” Rachel and Emily chorused at the same time.

Fernando’s lips curved slowly. “I feel like I’m about to hear something important.”

“You are,” Rachel confirmed. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to share a sacred secret. “The first time she ever got blacked-out drunk? Absolute disaster.”

Fernando’s eyebrows lifted slowly. “Blacked out?”

“Oh yeah,” Emily chimed in. “She swore up and down she could ‘totally handle her alcohol.’”

Fernando snorted softly. That sounded exactly like her.

Rachel continued, gesturing animatedly. “We were at a party freshman year. She kept saying she was ‘fine’—which is how you know someone is absolutely not fine.”

Across the yard, (Y/n) stood up, brushing her hands off on her jeans. She shot them a suspicious look. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Nothing!” Rachel called back sweetly.

Fernando’s grin was already forming.

“She decided she could keep up with everyone,” Emily went on. “Shot for shot.”

Alberto let out a low whistle. “Bold.”

“Tragic,” Rachel corrected. “Within an hour, she was gone.”

“Gone?” Fernando repeated, folding his arms now, fully invested.

“She stumbled off because someone teased her about slurring her words,” Rachel explained. “Said she needed ‘fresh air.’”

Fernando laughed under his breath. “Oh no.”

Emily pointed toward the far end of the yard. “There’s this shallow drainage ditch near the fence. Nothing crazy. But in the dark?”

Alberto’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me—”

“She walked straight into it,” Rachel finished triumphantly.

Fernando lost it. A full, unrestrained laugh escaped him, deep and warm. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Rachel said, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “She didn’t just stumble. She disappeared. One second she was there, the next—gone.”

“And then,” Emily added with dramatic emphasis, “she threw up.”

Fernando blinked. “In the ditch?”

“In the ditch,” Rachel confirmed.

Fernando shook his head slowly, watching (Y/n) now as she carefully arranged marshmallows and graham crackers on a tray, completely unaware that her reputation was in flames behind her. “She always thought she was tougher than she was,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

“She tried to stand up like nothing happened,” Emily said. “Covered in puke and grass. Hair a mess. Fully denying it.”

(Y/n)’s head snapped up. “Emily!”

Fernando was still laughing, eyes bright as he called out, “You fell into a ditch?”

She froze, staring at him. “You’re not supposed to hear this story.”

“Oh, I just did,” he shot back, walking a few steps closer to the fire pit. “You blacked out?”

“I did not black out,” she muttered defensively.

Rachel and Emily spoke in unison. “She blacked out.”

“And threw up,” Emily added helpfully.

(Y/n) covered her face with her hands. “I hate all of you.”

Fernando stepped closer, smirking. “Rookie mistake, huh?.”

She glared at him through her fingers. “I was nineteen.”

“And dramatic,” he teased.

She straightened, trying to salvage dignity. “I recovered quickly.”

Rachel gasped. “She laid in the grass for twenty minutes.”

Alberto shook his head, grinning at his brother. “Man. You really missed out.”

Fernando’s laughter softened as he looked at her properly—flushed, embarrassed, but still trying to hold her ground. It hit him then how easy this felt. The teasing. The familiarity. The way she rolled her eyes at him the same way she always had.

Before he could say anything else, the glass door opened.

Jace stepped out carrying a case of drinks and a bag of snacks, pausing just slightly as he took in the scene—Rachel and Emily mid-laughter, Alberto grinning, Fernando standing a little too comfortably close to (Y/n), both of them smiling in that effortless, history-soaked way.

Jace adjusted his grip on the case and walked forward with an easy smile.

“Looks like I missed something good.”

Fernando straightened slightly, the teasing grin settling into something more neutral.

“Oh,” Rachel said brightly, “we were just telling the boys about the ditch incident.”

Jace’s eyebrow lifted. “The ditch incident?”

(Y/n) groaned loudly. “Can we please move on?”

Fernando crossed his arms, eyes flicking briefly to Jace before settling back on her. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “Let’s hear his version.”

Jace set the drinks down slowly, watching the way she swatted at Fernando’s arm, the way he didn’t flinch, the way their laughter overlapped without effort.

And as the fire finally caught, flames rising steady and warm into the night, Jace stayed quiet for just a moment longer than usual—observing them. 

The hot tub was already fogged over by the time Fernando sank deeper into the water, elbows resting along the tiled edge. Steam curled into the night air, mixing with the faint scent of chlorine and smoke drifting from the dying bonfire across the yard.

Rachel and Emily were wedged on one side, laughing about something Alberto had just said. Alberto leaned back casually, shoulders relaxed, completely at ease.

Fernando wasn’t.

He tried to be.

But his eyes kept drifting toward the glass door.

“They’re taking forever,” Rachel sing-songed, splashing the water lightly. “Let them,” Alberto said.

Fernando forced a small smile, but his jaw tightened slightly.

The door finally slid open.

(Y/n) stepped out first.

And for a split second, everything else dulled.

Her hair was slightly damp at the ends, like she’d run it under the sink before coming out. She wore a simple swimsuit—nothing flashy, nothing over-the-top—but it fit her in a way that made his chest feel tight. He’d forgotten for a moment that she’d grown into herself. Into her confidence. Into her body.

He swallowed.

Then Jace stepped out behind her.

And immediately closed the space between them.

His hand settled on her waist like it belonged there. Casual. Familiar. Possessive without looking like it.

Fernando’s fingers tightened against the tile.

They walked down the steps together, her laughing softly at something Jace murmured near her ear. Too close. Too easy.

She dipped a toe into the water first. “It’s hot.”

“That’s the point,” Rachel replied.

Jace stepped in behind her, guiding her carefully by the hips as she lowered herself into the tub.

Guiding her.

Fernando looked away for half a second.

When he looked back, she was seated across from him, water rising to just below her shoulders. Jace slid in beside her, thigh immediately pressing against hers under the water.

And then his arm draped across the back of the tub behind her.

Fernando exhaled slowly through his nose.

It wasn’t obscene. It wasn’t inappropriate.

It was just… intimate.

Jace leaned in close, brushing water from her shoulder. His fingers lingered there a second too long. She laughed again—soft, warm—and tilted her head toward him.

Fernando felt something sharp twist low in his chest.

He told himself it was stupid.

They were together.

Of course he was going to touch her.

But it was the way she responded without thinking. The way she leaned into him. The way her hand rested lightly on his thigh under the water like it was instinct.

Rachel was talking about something—classes, maybe—but Fernando wasn’t hearing it.

He was watching.

Watching Jace press a quick kiss to her.

Watching her smile soften in a way that wasn’t meant for him.

The jets hummed louder, bubbling around them, masking the quiet tension that only he seemed to feel.

Alberto nudged him lightly under the water. “You good?”

Fernando blinked, forcing himself to look away. “Yeah.”

He wasn’t.

Across from him, Jace said something that made her laugh harder. His hand slid from her shoulder down to her waist, fingers spreading slightly as if he needed the contact.

Fernando’s jaw flexed.

He leaned back further against the tile, stretching his arms wide like he was relaxed, like he wasn’t hyper-aware of every movement between them.

Like it didn’t matter.

But then, for just a fleeting heartbeat, her eyes flicked up from where she had been laughing at something Jace said, and for a split second, they met his across the steam curling from the hot tub. In that instant, the sounds of laughter, music, and chatter around them blurred into a distant hum, like the world had shrunk to just the two of them. There was no embarrassment in her expression, no guilt, no hesitation—only a calm, steady acknowledgment, as if she recognized him in a way that transcended time and distance. Her gaze held his, clear and unflinching, and it felt electric, almost painful in its intensity. The warm air above the water thickened with unspoken history, with years of shared memories and silent longing, and for that single suspended moment, the weight of everything between them—everything they had been and could have been—pressed down, heavier than the heat of the water surrounding them.

Then, as if the brief connection had never happened, Jace leaned in and pulled her closer, his body snug against hers, and she instinctively turned back toward him, giggling again, hair brushing across her shoulders. Fernando’s gaze dropped, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to follow them, and he found himself staring at the shimmering surface of the water instead. The reflections of the string lights fractured in the ripples, twisting and bending like the tension coiling in his chest. He forced himself to inhale slowly, to suppress the sharp ache rising in his stomach: the jealousy, the frustration, the memory of how effortlessly she had once looked at him, eyes full of trust and warmth and something unspoken that had never quite left him. 

He reminded himself—he had chosen distance once. He didn’t get to feel territorial now, not after everything. Still, when Jace’s thumb traced a slow, casual path over her shoulder beneath the surface, something primal and stubborn flared inside him. His hands curled into tight fists against the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening, and he bit back his lip, forcing himself to breathe, to stay calm, to watch silently as the person he had always wanted—always cared for—was just out of reach.

Over the next few weeks, a quiet rhythm began to settle between them, one that felt almost like a return to an old, unspoken comfort. They met wherever it worked—her apartment, the campus library, even a small corner table at the coffee shop near campus where the baristas had started recognizing their usual order. At first, it was strictly Economics, books and notebooks spread across the table, pens scribbling furiously as formulas and graphs filled the margins, but slowly it became more than that. 

Fernando would pull a chair closer while he explained a concept she didn’t quite understand, and she would nudge his arm when he corrected her with that same teasing grin that had haunted her childhood. They laughed over small mistakes, like spilled coffee or misread questions, and sometimes the conversation veered toward other friends, old classmates, and stories from the past three years. 

“You really think Professor Tyler has a caffeine addiction?” she said one afternoon, tracing circles in her notebook. Fernando leaned back, grinning. “If he doesn’t, he should. No one can lecture that aggressively on macroeconomics without serious stimulation.” On their way out, she’d insist they grab lunch together, and they’d sit on a bench under a tree, the air crisp, sandwiches in hand. “So… you think the midterm will be brutal?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Brutal? Probably. But you? You’ll ace it. You always do,” he said, his eyes catching hers as he spoke. And even when the campus buzzed around them, full of people rushing to classes or laughing with friends, it felt like they were in their own small bubble, one built from years of familiarity, teasing, and trust. Each meeting left them lighter, their conversations slipping easily from academics to plans, to memories, and sometimes to the quiet, weightless moments where neither had to explain anything at all.

The quad was nearly empty, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, the air crisp and carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves. (Y/n) had just finished her late study session at the library, tired but in that quiet post-study kind of content, when her phone buzzed again. Jace. She hesitated, heart beating faster than usual, and typed back quickly, agreeing to meet him near the benches under the oak trees in the center of the quad.

When she arrived, he was already there, pacing, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight, eyes darting over the empty space as if it could offer him some sort of leverage. At first, his approach was calm, measured, almost like he was trying to reason through whatever was bothering him. “You’ve been… off lately,” he said, voice low, carefully chosen. “I feel like you’re distant. Not just busy with school—something’s different, and I need to know why.”

She blinked, trying to explain without overreacting. “Jace, I—It’s just been a lot, school, work—” she started, but her words stumbled. Her mouth moved before her brain could catch up. “I’ve also been studying with Fernando.”

The name seemed to hit him like a jolt of electricity. At first, there was a pause, a slow tightening in his chest, and then the calm broke. His breathing became shallow, fists clenching, and suddenly the carefully controlled frustration erupted into full-blown anger. “WHAT? You’ve been spending all your time with him?!” His hands then gripped her shoulders, shaking slightly as if trying to physically jolt the truth out of her. “After everything, you’re just gonna—what?—pretend like I don’t exist?”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, panic rising in her chest. “Jace, I swear, it’s not like that! I—you’re hurting me!” she stammered, trying to pry his hands from her, but the intensity of his anger made it hard to even think straight. His face was inches from hers, red and tense, the raw fury she’d never seen in him before burning through his features.

His grip on her shoulders tightened again, and his face twisted with frustration and hurt that was spilling into something meaner. “I can’t believe you!” he spat, his voice sharp and unsteady. “You fucking slut! Sneaking around with him like that while I’m actually trying to be with you?” His chest heaved as he stepped closer, eyes blazing. “Do you even care about what we have? Or is it all just a joke to you?”

(Y/n) tried to pull back, panic rising in her chest. “Jace, stop! That’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he shouted, his voice echoing across the quad. “You think studying with him is innocent? Studying? Really? I should’ve known the way you two were eye-fucking each other at the hot tub!” His fingers dug into her shoulders just a fraction harder as he shook her slightly, as if that could force her to see the world from his rage-filled perspective. “I trusted you! And now this? After everything, you just throw it all away?”

Her voice cracked as she tried to reason, but the words barely formed. “Jace… let me explain—”

From a distance, Fernando had just stepped out of the practice facility, wiping sweat from his brow, backpack slung over one shoulder. His steps faltered as he heard a sort of commotion from the distance and swiveled his head towards the noise — Jace’s hands gripping (Y/n)’s shoulders, her body tense and frozen under his grasp, the fiery anger in his eyes. Fernando’s stomach dropped. Without a second thought, he crossed the quad in long, determined strides.

“HEY!” Fernando’s voice cut through the night air like a shot. Both of them turned. Jace’s grip loosened just slightly, surprise flashing across his face. “Back off!” Fernando continued, moving fast enough to put himself between them. “Hands off her. Now.”

(Y/n) exhaled sharply, relief flooding her as Fernando’s presence replaced the tension suffocating her. Jace, still fuming, stepped back, his chest heaving, and Fernando’s eyes never left his. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that,” Fernando said, calm but undeniably dangerous, the protective edge in his voice unmistakable. “Not by you, not by anyone.”

(Y/n) instinctively reached for Fernando’s arm, grounding herself as her racing heart began to slow. The steam from her breath mixed with the night air, and the quad seemed to shrink around them, all the empty space filled with the electricity of the confrontation. Jace blinked, seeing the two of them—her flustered, anxious, and relieved — Fernando steady, unshakable, unyielding—and for the first time, maybe, he realized how much history and unspoken connection existed between them. 

Fernando didn’t let his eyes soften, didn’t step back, didn’t break the line between them. “You’re done,” he said, voice low now, but every syllable carried a weight that made Jace step back again. “Leave her alone.”

(Y/n) could feel her knees weaken slightly as she exhaled, leaning into him, grateful, and a strange mix of emotions bubbled through her—fear, relief, and something else she hadn’t expected — the grounding presence of someone who had always been, and somehow still was, on her side.

Fernando led her gently across the dimly lit quad, his hand lightly brushing against her back, steadying her as she stumbled over her own thoughts. Her legs felt like lead, her body heavy with adrenaline, and she barely registered the sounds around them—the distant hum of the streetlights, the faint music still drifting from the bonfire, even the crunch of leaves beneath their feet. By the time they reached the quiet street leading back to her apartment, she was barely aware of anything except the tight knot in her chest and the shaky rhythm of her breathing.

“(Y/n), hey—look at me,” Fernando said urgently, lowering his hands to gently hold her shoulders. She didn’t meet his gaze at first, staring blankly at the sidewalk, eyes wide and unfocused, as if the world had become two-dimensional. “You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Her arms hung limply at her sides, and Fernando realized she was dissociating, retreating from the moment as if it were too much to handle. Panic rose in him, and he crouched slightly to meet her at eye level. “Don’t do that. Stay with me. You’re shaking, I can feel it—breathe with me, okay? In… and out…” His hands rested firmly but gently on her shoulders, and he guided her into the rhythm of deep breaths, counting softly as he watched her slowly begin to respond.

She let out a long, shuddering exhale, and for a second, she felt like she could exist in the moment again, though the shame and embarrassment clawed at her throat. “I…” she whispered, voice trembling, “I can’t believe I… I froze. I didn’t do anything. I just… I let him—he grabbed me—and I—”

Fernando’s hands tightened slightly on her arms, anchoring her. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t freeze because you’re weak—you froze because that’s what anyone would do in that moment. You’re not failing. You’re not small. You’re—you’re human.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes beginning to glisten. “It’s just… it reminded me… of when I was six. On the playground. Those boys… they pulled my hair, and I couldn’t do anything. I remember the fear, feeling like I had no power. And now…” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “…I still… I still couldn’t—except you stepped in. You always… you always step in.”

Fernando’s chest tightened, heart aching at her words. He gently cupped her face, tilting it so she could finally meet his eyes. “I’ve got you now. Always have, always will. And you don’t need to apologize for what happened. Not ever. Not to me, not to anyone. You were brave enough to stay there. You’re brave enough to keep going. That’s what matters.”

She leaned into his hands, her whole body trembling, and for the first time that night, she let herself cry quietly, the weight of fear and embarrassment finally leaking out. Fernando’s thumbs brushed softly over her cheekbones, grounding her, his voice steady and warm. “It’s over. He’s gone. You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered back, voice muffled. “I’m… I’m just so embarrassed.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said firmly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You froze because it was scary. You didn’t know what to do. But I was there. I am here. And that’s what counts. Always.”

He guided her down the steps to her apartment, keeping a gentle but protective hold on her arm. Every step was measured, careful, as if the world outside might try to intrude again. Once inside, he guided her to her room, and sat her down on her bed — brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Sit. Breathe. No one’s touching you, no one’s saying anything. Just us.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself, sinking into the comforter as Fernando stayed close, quietly rubbing her back, murmuring words of reassurance, grounding her in a safety she hadn’t realized she’d been craving all night. 

Fernando stayed crouched beside her on the bed, hands still brushing gently over her shoulders, murmuring the same quiet reassurances, each one like a tether to the present. The adrenaline from the encounter in the quad was fading, but it left her raw and trembling, the shame and fear gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. She hugged herself tighter, staring at the floor for a long moment, and finally, voice small and uncertain, she whispered, “Can… can you stay with me tonight?”

He looked at her, startled for a heartbeat, but there was no hesitation in the warmth that flooded his chest. “Of course,” he said softly, voice steady but carrying that unshakable weight she had always relied on. He shifted closer, making space on the bed, careful not to overwhelm her, but enough so she could lean against him.

Her shoulders sank against his side, and she let herself breathe more deeply, the tension in her body easing slightly just from his proximity. “I… I just…” she started, her voice cracking, “I don’t want to be alone right now. I know my roommates will be here soon — they just don’t know how to—”

“You’re not alone,” he said gently, letting his arm wrap around her shoulders, drawing her closer without pressure. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere tonight. You can lean on me as long as you need.”

And so she did. She rested her head against his chest, letting the warmth of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat ground her. The apartment felt safer, quieter, like a little island outside the chaos of the quad, and for the first time since the confrontation, she allowed herself to feel relief. She whispered again, almost too softly to hear, “Thank you… for always being here.”

Not in the subtle way people do over time—but in the kind of way that hits you all at once and steals the air from your lungs. He’d gotten taller—which she didn’t even know was possible. He’s somehow broader through the shoulders, his frame no longer just athletic but solid, commanding. The years had filled him out; the lean teenage angles were gone, replaced with defined muscle that stretched the fabric of his shirt across his chest and arms. His neck was thicker, his jaw sharper. Even the way he stood was different—grounded, steady, like he took up space without apologizing for it.

He looked… big. Not just physically. Big in presence. Big in a way that made her feel suddenly small and hyper-aware of herself all at once. The boy she once knew had grown into a man.

And the realization made something inside her squirm—an uncomfortable, electric heat that traveled down her spine and settled low in her stomach. It wasn’t just recognition. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was awareness. A sharp, undeniable awareness of how much he had changed… and how much she noticed.

Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly. She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t prepared for it. Seeing him like this—stronger, harder, more defined—felt unfair somehow. Like he had evolved into someone she didn’t get to witness becoming. Like she had missed chapters she suddenly wanted to read.

She wanted to look away.

And yet her eyes refused to cooperate. They stayed locked on him.

He was a man standing in front of her. And the way he had grown into himself—into someone strong, steady, and quietly intense—made her feel dangerously unsteady.

“Hey, (Y/n),” he finally said, and his voice was lower than she remembered—steadier, rougher around the edges. But it was still him. Still that same familiar cadence that used to call her name across playgrounds and parking lots.

“You’re… here,” she said stupidly, as if that wasn’t painfully obvious. A corner of his mouth lifted, not quite a smile. “Yeah. I transferred.” “When?” Her voice came out too fast.

“Before the season started.” His eyes flicked briefly toward Jace and then back to her. “Figured it was time for a change.” Her heart thudded harder at that. A change. The word felt loaded, even if he hadn’t meant it to be.

“You didn’t tell me,” she said before she could stop herself. It wasn’t accusatory exactly—just stunned.

He inhaled slowly. “Didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

That hit harder than she expected. The music swelled again, people brushing past them, laughter bursting from somewhere behind, but the space between them felt oddly still. Jace shifted beside her, clearly aware something heavier was happening than a casual reunion. “You two know each other?” he asked, glancing between them.

Fernando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Yeah,” she answered quickly. “We—uh—we grew up together.”

Fernando nodded once. “Long time ago.” But his eyes said it wasn’t that long. That it hadn’t faded. That it was still sitting there, unresolved and heavy.

There was a beat of silence. The kind that used to be comfortable between them—but now felt charged. Complicated.

“You look…” he started, then hesitated, like he was choosing his words carefully, like whatever he said next mattered more than it should. His gaze swept over her slowly—not careless, not crude, but stunned. Like he was trying to reconcile memory with reality.

She had grown into herself. Into her figure, into the quiet confidence that radiated from the way she stood. The softness of childhood had given way to defined curves and a presence that didn’t ask for permission. Her posture was different—shoulders back, chin lifted slightly, comfortable in her own skin in a way she never used to be.

And tonight, she dressed like she knew it.

Her outfit was more fitted than anything he’d ever seen her wear before—fabric hugging her waist and hips cleanly, outlining the shape she’d grown into. It was slightly revealing, not overdone, but enough to make it clear she wasn’t the shy girl who used to layer oversized hoodies to disappear. The neckline dipped just enough to be considered bold—subtly revealing without crossing into anything dramatic. It framed her collarbones and the gentle slope of her shoulders, catching the colored party lights whenever she turned. Thin straps rested neatly against her skin, emphasizing how delicate yet self-assured she looked.

 The material clung in a way that felt intentional, like she chose it because she liked how she looked in it—not for anyone else, but because she finally understood her own reflection.

Fernando swallowed before he could stop himself. Not because it was provocative in a loud way—but because it was undeniable. She looked grown. Self-assured. Beautiful in a way that felt effortless but powerful.

“Different,” he finished quietly.

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Different good or…?”

“Different confident,” he corrected, voice lower now. “You grew into yourself.”

His eyes flicked briefly back to her outfit again—not lingering disrespectfully, but registering the change. 

“You don’t hide anymore,” he added, softer. “Like you used to.”

Her breath caught slightly. He noticed that. Of course he did. He always noticed the little things.

She crossed her arms lightly, more to steady the flutter in her stomach than to cover herself. “Well, college does that to you,” she said, though her voice wasn’t as steady as she wanted it to be.

He nodded slowly, eyes still on her like he was memorizing every detail—the glow in her skin under the party lights, the confidence in her stance, the way she met his gaze head-on instead of looking down like she used to when she got flustered.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It does.”

And the way he looked at her—like he was seeing the girl he grew up with and the woman standing in front of him at the same time—made the air between them feel heavier than the music shaking the walls.

She felt off-balance again, like she was standing at the edge of something she didn’t understand. Part of her wanted to ask a hundred questions—Why didn’t you tell me? Why now? How long have you been here? Do you still think about me?—but the other part of her knew this wasn’t the place.

Jace slipped an arm around her waist casually, grounding her back in the present. She felt it instantly—the contrast. The warmth at her side. The reminder.

Fernando noticed too. His expression shifted, barely, but enough.

She shifts slightly closer to Jace, her hand resting lightly against his chest as if anchoring herself. Her voice steadies, soft but clear.

“Fernando,” she says gently, almost carefully, “this is my boyfriend. Jace.”

The word settles in the space between them like a stone dropped into still water.

Boyfriend.

It sounds intentional. Mature. Claimed.

She feels Jace straighten slightly beside her — not aggressively, not possessive — just instinctively proud. He offers Fernando his hand again, this time with context, his grin easy and unbothered.

“Yeah, man. Small world, huh?”

Fernando glanced at his hand for a brief moment before taking it. His grip was firm and steady—controlled, like a quarterback always in command. And then it clicked—he remembered. He had seen him before, in the group photos she’d posted on her Instagram, laughing, smiling, part of her world he hadn’t been part of… until now.

His expression barely changes — but she sees it. She sees the subtle tightening along his jaw, the flicker in his eyes like something recalibrating internally.

“Yeah,” he says evenly. “Small world.”

His tone is calm. Too calm.

And because she’s known him for nearly her entire life, she recognizes that composure. It’s the same one he wore before big games. Before confrontations. Before pretending something didn’t matter when it absolutely did.

For a brief second, guilt presses into her chest.

Not because she’s done anything wrong.

But because she suddenly realizes he didn’t know.

And something about that realization feels heavier than it should.

Behind them, someone shouts Fernando’s name. One of his teammates crashes into him from the side, slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“Nando! We’re running another round!”

The spell breaks.

Fernando glances at her one more time — not dramatic, not pleading — just a quiet, loaded look that says more than his words ever could.

Then he steps back into his world.

The music swells again. The lights flash harsher. Someone spills beer on the hardwood and laughs like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.

She exhales slowly.

“You okay?” Jace murmurs against her hair, brushing his thumb along her waist.

“Yeah,” she answers quickly. Too quickly. “I’m fine. Just didn’t expect that.”

“Ex?” he asks casually.

She hesitates for half a second. “No. He was a good friend back from home.” Jace nods, satisfied enough, and pulls her into the living room as the crowd shifts toward the center of the house.

Monday morning, (Y/n) woke up later than usual. The sunlight streaming through her blinds had already stretched across her bed, and for a panicked moment, she realized her alarm had betrayed her. Heart pounding, she swung her legs out of bed and scrambled to get ready. Her apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside, but it felt like the world was already moving too fast.

She rifled through her closet in a frenzy, tossing aside jeans and hoodies until she settled on a pair of soft grey joggers and a cozy pink sweater. She shrugged into them, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, then raced to the bathroom to brush her teeth, rinsing and spitting with a distracted urgency, her mind already on the clock. She grabbed her bag from the counter, slinging it over one shoulder, and practically bolted out the door, her sneakers slapping against the concrete as she weaved through the early morning campus crowd.

The campus was alive in that Monday morning way — students hurrying to classes, the chatter of friends blending with the scrape of sneakers and the occasional clatter of a dropped coffee cup. She clutched her bag tighter, weaving past a group of laughing underclassmen, her thoughts already on Professor Tyler’s Econ lecture and hoping she wasn’t missing too much.

And then, almost like fate had deliberately thrown him in her path, she collided—figuratively and almost literally—with a familiar figure coming from the opposite direction. She looked up, heart stuttering, and there he was. Fernando.

“Hey…” she breathed out, frozen mid-step.

He froze too, a small, surprised smile tugging at his lips. “(Y/n)?”

She blinked, trying to process him standing there casually in the hallway, campus backpack slung over one shoulder, hair slightly mussed from a rushed morning. “I’m… late for Econ,” she said finally, regaining some composure.

Fernando’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait… you’re in Econ? Professor Tyler’s 9 am?”

Her jaw went slack. “Yeah… are you?”

He grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it either. “No way. I didn’t know we were in the same class.”

Her heart skipped a beat. What? Why? Why? Why? This could not be happening. She thought to herself. 

“Well, I guess we’re doomed to sit through the same lectures then,” she said, attempting a laugh, though her stomach was a chaotic mix of nerves and nostalgia.

Fernando grinned again, brushing a hand through his hair. “Looks like it—yeah”

The lecture finally ended, the echo of Professor Tyler’s last words still lingering in the high-ceilinged classroom. Students poured out into the bright, late-morning sun, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders and chatter filling the campus walkways. (Y/n) lingered near the exit, fumbling with her notebook, her stomach fluttering as she processed the fact that she had just been sitting next to him for the past hour. 

Fernando fell into step beside her, casual, relaxed, like the years between them hadn’t even happened. His presence had that same effect it always did — grounding, disarming, familiar in a way that made the world feel slightly smaller and safer.

“So…” she started, twisting the strap of her bag nervously, “I’m… kind of nervous for this class. Econ has never been my strong suit, and Professor Tyler is… well, he’s intimidating, okay?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and steady, tugging at her nerves in the best possible way. “Yeah, he seems tough. But not impossible.” He tilted his head, scanning her expression like he had done a hundred times before. “You know, maybe we should study together this week. Get ahead of the curve.”

Her eyebrows lifted, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh? Are you offering your brilliant brain to help me out?” she teased, trying to sound casual while her heartbeat betrayed her.

“I don’t know if it’s brilliant,” he said, shrugging, “but it’s better than going it alone. Plus, I might actually understand what he’s talking about half the time.”

She laughed, a light, easy sound that drew a few glances from passing students. “Well, I happen to have a perfectly good place for study sessions,” she said, flicking a glance at him. “My apartment is free most evenings, and I promise it’s quiet. Mostly. Except for my roommates if they’re blasting music again.”

Fernando’s grin widened just slightly, that quiet corner-of-the-lips smile she remembered so well. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll take you up on that.”

Her pulse picked up at the way he said it — casual, like it was nothing, but her brain scrambled at all the history behind those words. They fell into an easy rhythm walking together, slipping through the sunlit campus. No one else really mattered in that stretch between the classroom and the sidewalk, not the students rushing past, not the distant honk of traffic.

“So, you’ve been surviving college okay?” he asked, eyes scanning her like he always did, trying to read the unspoken.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging lightly. “I’ve been busy. New classes, new friends… you know. College life.” She hesitated for a second, biting her lip before looking up at him. “What about you? Why Indiana?”

Fernando exhaled slowly, glancing around for a moment before his eyes settled back on hers. “Honestly? The program.” His tone was steady, confident. “Coach has been building something real here. The offense fits how I play, the staff believes in development, and the team’s hungry. It’s not just about getting on the field — it’s about building something that lasts.”

He leaned back slightly, a small spark lighting his expression. “There’s potential here. You can feel it in the locker room, in practice. Guys actually buy in. It’s the kind of place where if we put in the work, we could turn it into something big.”

He gave a small shrug, almost modest. “I wanted to be somewhere that’s on the rise. Not just riding off reputation — actually building one.”

They reached the edge of the walkway where the campus opened onto a quieter street, the bustle of students fading behind them. Fernando glanced at her, hesitant for just a moment.

“So,” he said finally, voice low, “should we… pick a day? Or do you want me to just show up at your place after classes?”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Nope, we’ll plan it. I’ll make sure there’s coffee and snacks, nothing crazy. But I’ll warn you—I don’t go easy on study sessions. I ask questions.”

“Perfect,” he said, eyes brightening. “I could use the challenge.”

For a brief moment, they walked in silence, the air between them easy but charged, like electricity running just beneath the surface. She felt it, and she knew he did too — the unspoken weight of years, of memories, of all the almost that had stretched between them like invisible threads.

And in that quiet, ordinary campus street, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

But the way he looked at her, the way she laughed freely beside him, the ease of the old rhythm—she knew, without needing him to say it, that everything had changed. And somehow, it made the next study session — and whatever came after — feel like something both terrifying and irresistible.

(Y/n) had her desk set up by the window, the late-afternoon sunlight spilling across her textbooks and notebook pages. The faint hum of the city outside drifted in through the slightly open window, mixing with the soft buzz of her desk lamp and the occasional click of her roommate moving around the apartment. It smelled faintly of coffee and the vanilla candle she always burned when she studied—her own little corner of calm. 

Almost without thinking, she rummaged through her closet for something that would make her look put-together, even taking the extra time to swipe on a bit of concealer and blush—which was funny, considering she’d never normally go to this much effort for a regular study session.

But today felt different.

Her stomach fluttered in that familiar, unpredictable way whenever she thought about him, and she couldn’t tell if it was excitement, nerves, or the strange mix of both. She paused in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath. “Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. Her pulse raced a little faster as she pictured him walking in, that casual half-smile, leaning over the desk, his eyes inevitably landing on her. She shook her head, forcing a small smile, as if to remind herself it was just a study session.

A soft knock echoed through her apartment, startling her from the quiet focus she’d been trying to maintain. Her heart skipped a beat, a familiar flutter that made her stomach twist. She froze for a moment, listening as the sound lingered, deliberate but not impatient.

Taking a shaky breath, she pushed back her chair and hurried across the room, her sneakers barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. Her hand hovered over the doorknob for a split second as she tried to steady herself, inhaling deeply, letting the air fill her lungs and calm the sudden rush of nerves.

“Hey..” She breathed out. “Hi there,” Fernando stepped in, backpack slung over one shoulder, and she felt that familiar pull in her chest, the one that had started in childhood and never quite gone away. He paused for a second at the doorway, surveying the apartment with an almost apologetic hesitance, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here in her world anymore.

“Your place looks… cozy,” he said finally, voice low, trying for casual but a little awkward.

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. It’s small, but it works.” She gestured toward her room as he quietly followed her behind. 

He smiled, setting his backpack down carefully before sliding into the chair beside her desk. The proximity was almost dizzying — close enough that their arms brushed, and she felt her pulse spike, remembering all the years they’d been side by side.

“So,” he said, leaning over her open notebook, “what’s the plan? Start with microeconomics or macro?”

She grinned, trying to focus on the book instead of the way he was there, leaning casually, elbows on the desk. “Micro,” she said. “Professor Tyler said it’s the foundation. And honestly… I don’t even remember half the stuff from last semester.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, tilting his head toward her, eyes scanning the notes she’d carefully organized. “I got you. I might not remember everything either.”

She felt a flutter at that, and for a second, they just looked at each other, two halves of a rhythm that had started nearly a decade ago. She shook her head slightly, trying to brush away the tension that was already building between them.

“Okay, okay,” she said finally, turning back to her notebook. “I’ll quiz you, and you quiz me. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, his voice lighter now, but she could see the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

They began working through graphs and equations, but every so often, their notes collided. A pencil would touch hers, his arm would brush hers. She felt it all — every small contact setting her nerves alight. And he felt it too, the way she would glance up just long enough to catch his gaze before quickly returning to her page.

“Wait,” she said, tapping her pencil on the desk. “You’re not allowed to just sit there and smile at me like that. It’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” he echoed, eyebrows raised, as if shocked. “I’m just… encouraging.”

“Encouraging,” she repeated, rolling her eyes, though her lips twitched with a smile. “Yeah, sure. That’s it. Totally just encouraging.”

He leaned back slightly, shrugging in mock innocence, and she caught herself staring at the subtle lines of his face — the curve of his jaw, the familiar way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She shook her head quickly, focusing on her notes, but her pulse refused to calm.

They worked in this rhythm for a while: one person quizzing, the other explaining, arms occasionally brushing, laughs escaping over simple mistakes, the sun slowly dipping lower outside her window. The light made the room glow golden, and suddenly the space between them felt smaller, charged, like every glance and every touch had weight.

At one point, he leaned just slightly closer to point at a confusing section in her textbook. Their knees touched under the desk, and she froze for a second before brushing it off, pretending to adjust her chair. But he didn’t pull back. He just lingered, a faint smirk on his face.

“You okay?” she asked, a little breathless, her voice quieter than she intended.

“I’m fine,” he said softly, eyes not leaving hers. “Better than fine.”

The words hung between them, unspoken history filling the spaces around them. She tried to focus on the book, flipping pages, writing notes, asking questions — anything to anchor herself. But every so often, she’d glance up and catch him looking at her like he had all the time in the world to memorize her, like he was cataloging the years they’d lost and the person she had become.

And she realized something. This was different from before. Not high school, not the awkward drives and playground moments. They were both older now. They had history, they had lives outside each other, they had choices. And yet, sitting side by side at her little desk, they still fit together in ways neither of them could ignore.

Music was blasting through the apartment from the kitchen speaker, a steady thump of bass that made the floor vibrate faintly under her feet. (Y/n) groaned, swiping at her notebook. “Hold on a second,” she called, rubbing her temples as she got up from her desk.

As she stepped toward her bedroom door, she felt a familiar weight in her chest—like she’d forgotten how much space he could take up without even moving. Fernando’s eyes followed her, calm and steady, the way they always did, and she felt that old, strange pull tighten in her stomach.

“Rachel, can you turn that down? I’m studying here,” she said, her voice a little sharper than intended.

Her roommate rolled her eyes but obliged, reaching toward the speaker. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked so nicely,” she teased sarcastically. 

(Y/n) didn’t look back—didn’t want to—but she could sense him moving behind her as she passed the doorway. Then she caught a glimpse: Fernando stepping out from the bedroom, casually, as if he belonged here.

Rachel’s eyes widened, a slow wait… who is that? forming silently across her expression. She had expected Jace, maybe another friend, but not some other guy. Not the guy who had been part of (Y/n)’s life in ways no one else could understand.

Fernando caught the look, an awkward grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Uh, hey,” he said lightly, raising a hand in mock greeting. “Just… uh, excuse me for a second.”

He moved toward the hall with ease, leaving (Y/n) frozen for a heartbeat, Their textbooks forgotten on the desk. “Bathroom,” he muttered almost to himself, but loud enough that she caught the words.

As he disappeared down the hall, the tension in the room felt thicker than the bass from the speaker still pulsing faintly in the kitchen. 

“Are you fucking him?” She uttered those words towards her. Eyes widened at the accusation—blood rushed through (Y/n)’s face, making her face red, “Can you keep it down? He can hear you!” She whispered-yelled. 

“What happened with Jace?” Rachel asked, lowering her voice the second Fernando disappeared down the hall.

(Y/n) blinked at her. “Nothing happened. Fernando and I are just studying together for our Economics class.” She crossed her arms defensively, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to defend anything.

Rachel stared at her for a beat. “Wait. Fernando as in… your Fernando?”

(Y/n) sighed. “Yes. Him.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “What is he doing here?”

“He transferred,” she said quickly. “He went through the transfer portal and chose here because of the football program. That’s it.”

Rachel didn’t respond right away. She just looked at her—flat, unimpressed, almost pitying.

“What?” (Y/n) frowned. “That’s what he said.”

Rachel let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wow. You are so gullible.”

(Y/n)’s head snapped back slightly. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t with you,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “You’re seriously telling me that out of every school he could’ve picked—every big football program in the country—he just happened to choose the one where his childhood best friend goes?”

“It’s a good program,” (Y/n) insisted, though her voice wavered. “Coach Cignetti has been building something solid here. It makes sense.”

Rachel gave her a look. “Oh, I’m sure it does. Totally random coincidence. Absolutely nothing to do with the girl he’s known since he was six. The one he practically grew up with. The one he might still be in love with.”

“That’s not—” (Y/n) cut herself off, heat creeping up her neck. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” Rachel crossed her arms. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty obvious.”

(Y/n)’s mind started racing, and she hated that Rachel’s words were burrowing under her skin. She shook her head firmly. “He came here for football. That’s it.”

But even as she said it, a small, dangerous thought flickered in the back of her mind. Out of all the schools. Out of all the places.

She quickly shoved it down. No. She wasn’t doing this.

Her gaze darted toward the hallway. “Why is he taking so long?” she muttered, more to herself than to Rachel. She could not let him walk back into this conversation. Rachel would absolutely say something unhinged, and she would simply evaporate on the spot.

Rachel followed her glance and smirked. “Relax. Unless he’s hiding in there because he heard me.”

“He didn’t,” (Y/n) said quickly. “He couldn’t have.”

Still, her stomach twisted. The apartment suddenly felt too small. Too loud. Too aware.

And for some reason, the idea that Fernando might’ve heard even a fraction of that conversation made her pulse spike in a way she didn’t quite want to examine.

The bathroom door opened, Fernando stepped out, closing the bathroom door behind him, glancing towards them as he made his way back. 

“Hey,” Rachel piped up before (Y/n) could say anything, turning toward him with her usual bright enthusiasm. She’d never met any of (Y/n)’s old friends before, and even though Fernando wasn’t exactly new to her roommate’s world, there was something about seeing him framed in the doorway that sparked her curiosity.

“Hey,” Fernando replied politely. His voice was low, neutral — not distant, but not overly chatty either.

“So,” Rachel began, almost as if she had been waiting for an excuse to talk to him, “you play football here, right? I don’t think I’ve ever actually talked to one of the players before. Must be wild being part of the team.”

Fernando lifted an eyebrow slightly, a small amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, still measured, “it’s a good group. Keeps me busy.”

“Well,” Rachel grinned, clearly not done, “we have a thing we do every semester with the whole crew. It’s nothing crazy… just a little bonfire and hot tub hangout out on the rooftop. Really casual. We have drinks, snacks, music, it’s a whole vibe.”

Fernando glanced toward (Y/n)’s room, and for just a moment, his expression flickered — curiosity, hesitation, something unspoken. But he met Rachel’s eyes again before (Y/n) could respond.

“That sounds… fun,” he said slowly, like he was mentally calculating whether he should say yes. 

“You should come!” Rachel exclaimed, stepping a little closer as if extending a genuine invitation rather than just party chatter. “Everyone’s welcome — teammates, friends, anyone you want to invite…” she winked in (Y/n)’s direction with clear amusement.

(Y/n) felt that familiar flutter in her stomach — not nerves this time, but something like… anticipation. She wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment on her behalf, curiosity on his, or something softer buried deeper beneath the surface.

Fernando’s smile widened a fraction, eyes shifting back to (Y/n) before he replied. “Um…yeah, if that’s okay with you, (Y/n)?” he asked, voice low but hopeful, like he wasn’t sure how she’d respond.

(Y/n) felt a rush of warmth spread through her chest, her pulse quickening in that familiar, disarming way. She smiled, trying to keep her tone casual, though her words carried more than she intended. “Of course it’s okay. You should come,” she said, stepping a little closer, letting the invitation feel genuine, effortless.

Rachel practically beamed. “Nice! It’s this Friday. We’re just gonna have a fire going, maybe some games, and definitely the hot tub later — so bring a towel if you want to hop in.”

Fernando nodded, and though his expression was calm, there was something reflected there — like he hadn’t expected an invite, and maybe hadn’t realized he wanted one.

“Cool,” he said, voice easy but steady. “Thanks.”

Rachel bounced back toward her room, shouting something about playlists for the night.

(Y/n) exhaled slowly, keeping her gaze on Fernando for a moment longer than necessary. “Sorry about Rachel,” she said quickly, moving back toward her room and sliding into her chair at the desk. Fernando followed, standing by her dresser. “She can be… a little much sometimes,” she added, forcing a small laugh that came out more nervous than she intended. “I hope she didn’t scare you off.”

Fernando shook his head, his grin easy but warm. “Not at all,” he said. “She’s… enthusiastic.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually, but there was that subtle intensity in his gaze that made her heart speed up without any effort.

(Y/n) pulled her chair closer to the desk, patting the seat next to her. “Sit. We can start before the music comes back full blast.”

He dropped into the chair, close enough that she felt the heat from him brush her arm as she flipped open her notebook. “So,” she said, trying to steady her voice, “You gonna survive a night of our chaos?”

Fernando chuckled softly. “Depends… and how many drinks are involved.” He smirked, teasing, but there was a note of curiosity in his tone. 

“It’ll be fun,” she said confidently, but she felt a small twist of nerves anyway. “Just a chill night with friends. Fire, snacks, music. And, yes… the hot tub. That part’s optional. But everyone usually ends up there at some point.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

She shrugged, a little flustered. “I mean… It's optional for anyone who doesn’t want to get wet. I’ll be there either way.” She caught herself and laughed lightly, rubbing her neck. “Anyway… that’s not really the point. What about you? You really in for it?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, eyes flicking to hers for just a second longer than necessary. “I’ll come.”

(Y/n) hesitated, then decided to just throw it out there. “Jace is going to be there,” she hesitated. “And he’s bringing some stuff.”

Fernando leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “Jace?” he asked casually, though the flicker of something in his expression betrayed him—curiosity, maybe a hint of something else. “How did you guys meet?”

(Y/n) blinked, caught off guard by the sudden interest. She let herself relax a fraction before answering. “Uh… we met at a friend’s party last year. We just… clicked, I guess.” She smiled, shrugging, but there was a softness in her tone, a warmth that made him pause for a heartbeat.

“Sounds… nice” he said finally, nodding. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of something deeper lingering in the quiet way he spoke.

“It is,” she admitted, shrugging again. “I like him. He’s… good for me.” She glanced at him, noticing the subtle shift in his expression, but decided not to push. “Anyway, you’ll have fun—bring Alberto too! I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Fernando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, like he was memorizing her words, her expressions, the way she had grown into herself. “Sure and I’ll hold you to that,” he said finally, with a quiet smirk that made her pulse skip.

Indiana gave her room to breathe, to grow, to test herself. She had her own rhythm now — late-night library sessions where the hum of fluorescent lights and soft typing filled the air, spontaneous road trips with roommates who had become like sisters, laughter spilling into dorm hallways after frat parties, frozen mornings running across campus to class with her scarf flapping behind her. She dated, too—not casually, but carefully, exploring what it meant to be desired and to desire someone on her own terms. She went on dinners with boys who made her laugh, shared late-night milkshakes and too-small couches in cheap apartments, went dancing at frat parties under flashing lights, and felt herself stepping into new versions of confidence every single time. With each date, each conversation, each time she caught herself looking in the mirror and smiling at her own reflection, she felt just a little more untethered from the old girl who had once relied so heavily on the presence of one person to feel safe.

She had grown into someone who could walk into a room and feel confident. She went on coffee dates that started with nervous smiles and ended in laughter that left her cheeks sore. She learned how to flirt without overthinking, how to be magnetic in a way that was authentic and effortless, how to let herself be seen and still be grounded in herself. She and her friends stayed up until 2 a.m. talking about boys they liked, classes they hated, and plans for spring break that involved beach houses and borrowed cars. She danced until her legs ached and sang too loudly in empty dorm kitchens. 

And she had thrived. 

And yet, even amid all of this, there were moments when the past tugged at her chest. Late nights in her dorm, when the city was silent and the hum of heating systems filled the air, she sometimes thought about him. Not out of longing, necessarily, but because he had been there first. He had been the one who made her believe she could do something she hadn’t dared to try alone—who had guided her hands on the steering wheel when her chest had been tight with nerves, who had laughed with her under the oak tree when nothing else in the world made sense. She imagined him under the California sun, football helmet in hand, standing on the edge of a field as the wind tangled his hair, and wondered if he ever thought of her too, or if she had become just another memory he tucked away in the corners of his mind. She wasn’t sad, exactly, but she felt nostalgic — the kind that makes you aware of the spaces someone occupies your heart, especially when they’re not there.

College had changed them both. But it had not erased them.

Fernando, meanwhile, in Berkeley, had quiet moments of thought, where memories of a girl who had unconditionally supported him back home. Some nights, he would mindlessly scroll on his phone and would look at her Instagram to see the life that she is living without him in it. It pained him a bit to not have her in front of him. Three years had separated them physically, but in the corners of their minds and the quiet spaces of late nights, they were never truly apart.

When he was at Cal, the decision to enter the transfer portal didn’t come lightly. Football had been everything—discipline, identity, escape—but it had also been frustrating, suffocating, and lonely in ways that no stadium could fix. He had trained, pushed, and given everything he had to the program, but deep down he knew something was missing. Not just in football, but in life. He wanted to play, yes—but he wanted to play somewhere he could feel the air differently, somewhere the program fit him instead of the other way around.

Offers came in after weeks of emails and phone calls. Some were from schools with better programs, bigger crowds, and more prestige. Others were quieter, less flashy, but promising a chance to grow in ways that weren’t just about stats. He spent late nights scrolling through the lists, weighing the pros and cons, imagining himself in each uniform, under each stadium light. And then he thought of Indiana. Not the football, not the program, not the city, but, his head keeps going back to her.

He knows he shouldn’t choose the program just solely on her. This transfer decision aren’t supposed to be about people; they’re about opportunities, growth, and the paths you carve for yourself. And yet, the thought of Indiana brings a strange mix of comfort and fear. Comfort because he can imagine seeing her again, laughing the same way she always did, moving through life with that effortless confidence he remembers so clearly. Fear because he knows how complicated it would be—how messy it might get if old feelings rise to the surface, if the boundaries they set as teenagers blur now that they’re older, more experienced, and still carrying the weight of what they never said. 

Choosing Indiana for her is reckless in every logical sense. It’s impulsive. It’s sentimental. And yet, he can’t ignore the quiet whisper in his chest that says some things are worth bending the rules for—worth chasing, even if it comes with risk. But the rational part of him, the part forged by three years of grueling practices, late nights alone in dorm rooms, and endless decision-making about his future, keeps reminding him — this isn’t just about her. This is his life, too. And whatever happens, he has to be sure he can stand on his own two feet, even with her in the picture.

So, he found reasons about the program, rationalizations that made the choice seem like more than just a coincidence. The coaching staff was strong, the facilities were top-notch, and the team culture promised growth on and off the field. He reminded himself that Indiana could give him the exposure he needed, the competition he craved, and the chance to prove he belonged at the next level. Every logical reason he listed to justify the transfer felt sturdy on the surface, but underneath, he knew the truth — she was part of the equation, even if he refused to admit it aloud. 

Every time he pictured walking across campus, navigating the quad, or sitting in the lecture hall, he imagined her there too—laughing, walking past with that familiar stride, completely unaware that he had returned to the same city she had chosen for herself. He pushed the thought down, telling himself it didn’t matter, that it was coincidence, that he could compartmentalize. But as soon as his plane touched down, the moment he stepped onto Indiana’s red-bricked campus, the anticipation became tangible, crawling up his spine in a way that no scouting report, no practice drill, and no rationalization could ever explain.

The first morning at Indiana University was a collision of nerves and anticipation. Fernando woke before the sun, the orange glow just beginning to spill over the campus, and for a moment he lingered in the quiet of his new apartment, listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the faint sounds of students passing by outside. Everything felt both foreign and familiar — the crisp autumn air smelled different, a mix of wet leaves and distant smoke from early morning campus fires, but there was a rhythm here he recognized, a rhythm he had felt every time he stepped onto a field with a team counting on him.

Coach Cignetti was waiting when he arrived at the practice facility, a presence that demanded attention without raising his voice. The handshake was firm, the eyes sharp, appraising. “We expect commitment,” the coach said, and Fernando nodded, letting each word sink in. This wasn’t just about raw talent. It was about discipline, about mental toughness, about pushing past exhaustion when everyone else would quit. He had learned that at Cal, but here, it felt magnified. Every drill, every play, every word from the coach carried a weight that made Fernando feel alive, focused, and, in some quiet corner of his chest, anxious. Because football wasn’t the only thing pulling at him anymore.

Meeting the team was its own trial. Some players were instantly welcoming, joking about his Miami accent and the way he had been hyped as a transfer. Others were quiet, watching him, sizing him up, testing him without saying a word. And then there was his brother, who had transferred a year ahead, already embedded in the culture of the program. Seeing him again was grounding and strange all at once. His brother had always been a point of competition and camaraderie, a reflection of him in some ways, and now, seeing him suited up, confident in Indiana colors, reminded Fernando of the years of sibling rivalry and support that had shaped him. They joked quietly during practice, traded knowing looks during drills, and for a moment, Fernando let himself breathe. This wasn’t just a new team; it was family, of a sort, and that fact made him feel both relieved and vulnerable.

The apartment was another kind of challenge entirely. Boxes lined the walls, his football gear stacked neatly in one corner, textbooks waiting for their first use. It was his space now, but it still had the echo of absence, the emptiness of unfamiliarity. Fernando unpacked methodically, letting the routines of folding clothes, hanging jerseys, arranging notebooks distract him from the flutter in his chest that came whenever he thought of her. And yet, when he reached the nightstand, he felt the pull of something he couldn’t ignore.

He dug into his bag and retrieved the photo frame he had carried with him, carefully hidden from everyone’s view for years. It was when they were in elementary school, a memory that felt older than it should: innocence in their eyes, messy hair, scraped knees, and crooked, carefree smiles. He traced the edge of the frame with his finger, hesitant, as if touching it might somehow summon her back into his life. The apartment was quiet, the air still, and he placed the frame on the nightstand with deliberate care. It wasn’t a statement. It wasn’t even a hope. It was a reminder—a quiet acknowledgment that part of him would always carry her, no matter the miles, no matter the time, no matter the life that had grown between them.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he let himself look around the apartment and take it all in. The colors of the walls, the sunlight spilling across the floor, the faint smell of cardboard and detergent—everything was new, everything was his, and yet nothing felt complete without her presence somewhere in the world. He thought about the past three years — the empty parking lots, the long nights spent trying to figure out what it meant to love someone from a distance, the silence that had stretched between them like a living thing. And now, with the photo perched on the nightstand, the hum of the city outside, and the rustle of leaves from the quad below, he allowed himself one small, unspoken hope: that maybe this time, things could be different.

He knew better than anyone that college transfers weren’t just about opportunity—they were about timing. And for the first time in years, the timing seemed almost… aligned. Almost. But the pull in his chest reminded him that it wasn’t just the program that mattered. It never had been. He knew he shouldn’t be choosing Indiana solely because of her. Not entirely. But part of him, the part that had kept the photo hidden for months, the part that still remembered her laughter under the oak tree and her trembling hands on the steering wheel, knew the truth: she was inescapable. Even after everything, even after years apart, she had never left.

And somewhere deep down, that knowledge was terrifying. Because he had learned over the last three years that life was moving fast, faster than he could always control. Practices, classes, travel, games—they demanded every piece of him. And yet, seeing her, thinking of her, even imagining her walking across the campus quad with friends—it reminded him that some things were worth the risk, worth bending rules, worth navigating complicated, messy feelings. Indiana wasn’t just another opportunity. It wasn’t just another program. It was a chance to confront the part of himself that had never stopped caring for her, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to finally close the distance that had stretched between them since high school.

The first game had been brutal. Not physically brutal—well, it had been that too—but mentally exhausting in a way Fernando hadn’t fully anticipated. As quarterback, every play fell squarely on his shoulders: the timing, the reads, the audibles, the instinct to adjust in a split second when the defense didn’t line up as predicted. He had run, passed, dodged, and shouted instructions until his throat was raw and his arms trembled from the adrenaline and exertion. By the time the final whistle blew, he felt as though he had poured himself into the field and left pieces of himself behind in the stadium lights, the cheers, the turf, and the sweat of every other player who had run alongside him.

Back in the locker room, the atmosphere was chaotic and electric. His teammates were buzzing, celebrating loudly, jumping around, all of them caught in that post-game high that only athletes understood. His brother leaned against the lockers, towel around his neck, hair damp from sweat, grin plastered across his face. “Dude, that was insane,” he said, clapping Fernando on the shoulder. “You owned the field.”

Fernando nodded, letting the praise wash over him, but internally he was exhausted to the bone. Every muscle ached. His mind was still replaying the plays, imagining the ones he could have executed better, the passes that had been too slow, the reads that had barely worked. Victory was sweet, yes, but it left a residue of tension, a gnawing reminder that nothing in football was ever clean or easy.

As the team filtered around him, one of his linemen nudged him with a grin. “You’re coming tonight, right? Miller’s house?”

Fernando froze mid-step, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “What?” he asked, his voice hoarse from shouting across the field and barking commands.

“Party,” his teammate repeated, laughter in his eyes. “You don’t think we’re letting you skip your first weekend as a Hoosier, do you? You played like a god out there. You earned it. Come celebrate, man.”

His brother leaned closer, voice teasing but insistent. “No excuses, little bro. We’re all going. Team bonding. You can’t hide from us. You’re the quarterback—you set the vibe. You can’t sit this one out.”

Fernando ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it, trying to ignore the tug of fatigue that coiled around his body. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his apartment, shower, collapse on his bed, and let the silence of the evening wash over him. The thought of a crowded house, loud music, and people pressing against him in celebration made his chest tighten. And yet, he also knew he couldn’t say no—not to his brother, not to the team, and not to the camaraderie.

One of the younger teammates leaned in, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, man. You’ve got to show them you can handle the spotlight off the field too.”

Fernando laughed, a dry, tired sound, but the corners of his mouth turned up in reluctant amusement. He knew they were right, at least in part. He couldn’t hide behind his uniform forever. Leadership wasn’t just about throwing perfect passes or reading defenses—it was about showing up, being present, and yes, even enduring moments he didn’t particularly enjoy.

“Fine,” he muttered finally, exhaling with a mix of resignation and determination. “I’ll go.”

His brother whooped, smacking him on the back a little too hard, while the linemen hooted in approval. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Fernando nodded, trying to match their enthusiasm, but inwardly, he felt tired and drained, from the exhaustion of the game they had just played their hearts out. The thought of the party shouldn’t have mattered. It was supposed to be just another social obligation, a chance to bond with teammates, a distraction from the grind of football and classes. 

One thing at a time, he thought. Football first. Team next. Party… eventually. He could handle that. He had to.

The party was exactly what he’d feared it would be—and more. The music thumped through the walls and into his chest, a relentless bass that vibrated under his feet and made the air feel electric. Green and blue lights flashed across the room, bouncing off plastic cups and the polished floor, catching on the sweat already forming on his skin after a long day of practice. Laughter and shouting melded into a constant hum, the voices of his teammates, his brother, and a hundred other students blending together until it became a living, chaotic organism that filled the house from floor to ceiling.

Fernando had been half-pulled into a circle with his brother and a few of the linemen, a red solo cup in hand, the faint sting of beer already loosening the tension from the week’s grueling practices. They were doing a beer bong in the corner, a raucous, messy affair that made him grin despite himself. Every now and then, someone would shout encouragement, someone would spill, someone would laugh so hard they doubled over. His brother clapped him on the back after he finished, shouting something indistinct over the music. Fernando laughed, letting the adrenaline, the alcohol, and the chaos all blend together.

“Hey man, I just want to say congrats,” said a guy with dark, tousled hair, slapping Fernando on the back with a friendly enthusiasm that almost made him stumble forward. “This might actually be a good season for once.” Fernando managed a tired but genuine smile, appreciating the camaraderie despite the pounding in his head from the music and the long day.

One of the linemen leaned in, grinning. “Fernando, this is Jace. A good friend of ours,” he said, nodding toward the guy who had just congratulated him. Jace extended a hand, and Fernando shook it, noting the easy confidence in his grip, the bright grin that made him seem like he belonged just as much in the chaos of the party as the guys in the football room.

“Nice to meet you,” Fernando said, keeping his tone casual even though he felt the strange, subtle pull of curiosity. Jace laughed lightly, and Fernando thought for a split second that he seemed… familiar. But there was no reason he should—he didn’t know him at all.

They fell into an easy conversation, the three of them talking about football, classes, and a few campus anecdotes, laughter bouncing over the music that thumped like a heartbeat through the house. Fernando found himself relaxing a little, the initial tension of the party giving way to the casual rhythm of being with teammates and new faces. 

From somewhere behind him, a delicate giggle cut through, soft but unmistakable. Fernando’s head swiveled instinctively toward the sound, but before he could focus, a pair of small hands clamped over Jace’s eyes. Jace froze for a second, then laughed, spinning around instinctively.

(Y/n) was standing there, hair bouncing slightly as she laughed, her eyes sparkling like they always had, full of mischief and warmth that made his chest tighten. For a moment, Fernando couldn’t breathe. Every instinct he’d buried for years—the memories of her, the little moments from childhood, middle school, driving lessons, quiet afternoons—rushed back in a wave too fast to contain.

Jace bent down slightly, laughing, and Fernando watched in stunned silence as she pressed her lips to his in a quick, playful, familiar kiss. Jace pulled back, grinning, completely in sync with her energy, and she giggled again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, radiating that confident ease that made Fernando’s heart twist.

He had no idea. None. Not a clue. It was like the universe was toying with him. 

And yet, standing there amidst the chaos of the party—the music, the lights, the yelling of teammates, the smell of sweat and alcohol and excitement—Fernando felt the old ache return. The ache of recognition, of wanting, of remembering a connection he thought had been left behind but hadn’t really gone anywhere. His hands tightened around the cup he hadn’t even realized he was holding, knuckles whitening.

For the first time since he had transferred, since he had signed with Indiana, since he had settled into the routine of football, the apartment, the team, he felt something unsteady, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel — the pull of her presence, the undeniable gravity of her energy, and the realization that she had moved on in a way he hadn’t expected, and yet… he couldn’t look away.

Fernando’s eyes lingered on her, trying to reconcile the girl in the playful kiss with Jace, the confident young woman, with the little girl who had clung to him after scrapes on the playground, the teenager who had sat nervously beside him during driving lessons, the girl who had once been his world. And somewhere deep in his chest, a spark of something dangerously familiar flickered—something he wasn’t ready to face, but couldn’t ignore. 

His stomach twisted in a way he hadn’t felt since when they grew apart in high school. She was here—laughing, alive, kissing someone else, completely unaware of his presence, completely untouchable in a way that made every muscle in his body tense.

He took a slow, almost imperceptible breath, trying to steady himself. The room was still spinning with music and flashing lights, the scent of beer and sweat thick in the air, and his teammates were still shouting, laughing, and doing whatever reckless thing they could think of next. Someone yelled something about another round at the beer pong table, another group started chanting for shots, and yet Fernando could barely register any of it. All he could see was her.

She pulled back from Jace, still giggling, the rush of mischief and adrenaline making her heart hammer. She hadn’t even realized how loud the music was until her ears adjusted again, until the laughter and shouts around them seemed to fade into a soft blur. She leaned on Jace for a second, teasing him about being caught off guard, when she felt the weight of someone’s gaze.

Instinctively, she turned.

And froze.

The bright Florida sun made the playground gleam, but instead of excitement, she felt small and invisible, like everyone around her already belonged to a club she didn’t know the secret handshake for.

She cautiously stepped toward the swings, hoping to find a quiet corner, when a couple of older boys noticed her.

“Hey!” one of them sneered, “get off the swing!” 

“What-” She shrieked when he grabbed her arm and yanked her off. 

“We always use these swings during this time! What? Are you new or something?” 

“Well, I was here before you guys got here. You have no claim-” (Y/n) pointed out as she grabbed onto the metal chain of the swing to sit herself down again. She then felt her hair yanked back, as she stumbled, her body was thrown on to the mulch. 

“Leave her alone!”

The voice was sharp, confident, and entirely unexpected. She turned just in time to see a boy about her age—brown hair falling into his eyes, a look of fierce determination on his face—striding toward her.

“Back off, now,” he said, standing between her and the boys. His stance was steady, his hands curled into fists, and there was no hint of fear.

The boys hesitated, sizing him up. “Or what?” one of them sneered. “Or I’ll tell your whole class that you wet your pants easily and that’s why you guys hide back here all the time,” he said simply. The two boys exchanged uneasy glances and then, muttering under their breaths, walked away. 

(Y/n)’s eyes widened. “Th-thank you,” she stammered, brushing her hair back into place.

The boy smiled, a little awkward but genuine. “I’m Fernando,” he said, holding out a hand. 

She hesitated for a second before taking it, feeling an odd warmth in the shake. “(Y/n),” she said softly.

From that moment, something clicked. Over the next few weeks, they were inseparable. He showed her the best hiding spots on the playground — the corner behind the slide where the teachers couldn’t see if you were trading snacks, the crooked oak tree near the fence that they decided was their “secret base.” He shared his lunch with her without hesitation, sliding half his sandwich onto her napkin like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she forgot her crayons one day, he wordlessly pushed his entire box toward her and said, “We can share.” And he made her laugh in ways that made the scary new school feel a little smaller, a little less intimidating — dramatic retellings of dodgeball victories, silly voices during reading time, exaggerated eye-rolls whenever the class got too loud.

They had a routine before they even realized it was one. He’d wait for her by the classroom door every morning, backpack slung over one shoulder, pretending he wasn’t scanning the hallway just to make sure she got there okay. At recess, they’d race to the swings, arguing about who could go higher. He always let her win — not obviously, but just enough. When group projects were assigned, he’d shift his desk closer to hers without asking. And on days when she felt the ache of missing her old school — the familiar faces, the comfort of knowing where everything was — he’d nudge her foot under the table and whisper, “It’s okay. You’ve got me.”

There was one afternoon when a bigger kid tried to cut in front of her in line for the monkey bars. She stepped back automatically, ready to let it go. But Fernando didn’t. He moved in front of her, small but stubborn, arms crossed like he was twice his size. “She was here first,” he said, voice steady. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. The other kid scoffed and walked away, but she never forgot the way he stood there — like protecting her wasn’t a question, just a fact.

They started trading little things the way kids do when they don’t yet have the language for attachment. She gave him one of her sparkly erasers; he kept it in the front pocket of his backpack like it was something rare. He gave her a folded piece of paper with a badly drawn cartoon of the two of them as superheroes — capes flying, stick-figure villains defeated at their feet. She tucked it into her desk and never threw it away.

Even then, she noticed it — his loyalty, the quiet certainty in the way he chose her again and again. The way he’d glance over his shoulder in crowded hallways to make sure she was still there. The way he’d save her a seat at lunch without saying anything. And how somehow, sitting beside him on that scratchy classroom carpet, she’d felt something settle inside her. Like she hadn’t just found a friend. Like she had found home.

By the time they reached middle school, (Y/n) and Fernando’s friendship had already become something rare—unshakeable, unspoken, and filled with little rituals only they understood. But middle school came with new challenges. Fernando went to an all-boys academy a few blocks away, while (Y/n) found herself navigating the polished hallways and strict uniforms of an all-girls school. They no longer saw each other every day on the playground, no longer shared recess or walked home side by side, and that first pang of separation was sharper than either of them expected. It wasn’t dramatic—no tears or declarations. Just the quiet realization that they couldn’t reach across a classroom and nudge each other anymore.

The first week felt strange. (Y/n) would catch herself turning to tell him something funny that happened in class, only to remember he wasn’t there. Fernando, meanwhile, would sit at lunch surrounded by loud, competitive boys and think about how different it felt from sitting next to her under the oak tree, splitting snacks and rolling their eyes at the world together. They were growing up, slowly and awkwardly, and the spaces between them felt bigger than a few blocks.

But if middle school tried to stretch them apart, they refused to let it win.

(Y/n) mentioned how this girl in her class, Lily, would consistently make snide comments towards her—sometimes about her hair, how she was probably going to be the last one to hit puberty, and would even go far to say, Maybe…if your mom was still here, she would teach you how to upkeep yourself. 

Fernando told her that he would come to her school and give her “a peace of his mind,” but (Y/n) didn’t want him to do all her fighting for her. She wanted to learn on her own to defend herself for once—he begrudgingly listened and offered her different comebacks on what to say to this Lily girl. 

Every Friday became sacred. He’d text her the second the final bell rang, asking if she was ready. Sometimes they’d meet halfway and ride their bikes through the neighborhood, racing down sunlit streets, arguing over who cheated by getting a head start. She’d laugh when he slowed down to let her catch up, pretending she didn’t notice he always made sure she was close behind him. Other weekends, they’d sprawl out on her bedroom floor with homework scattered around them, swearing they’d study and then getting distracted by stories about annoying teachers and ridiculous school rumors.

By the time the sky turned orange and the streetlights flickered on, they were already begging their parents for sleepovers. They acted like they were still little kids about it—overdramatic sighs, exaggerated promises to be quiet—but the truth was neither of them wanted the day to end. Sleepovers meant late-night conversations whispered in the dark, talking about things they’d never admit during the day: which classmates were annoying, what high school would be like, what they thought they’d become someday.

There were small changes, though. Subtle ones.

She started noticing how much taller he was getting. His voice cracked sometimes when he laughed too hard. He began caring more about football tryouts and less about silly drawings and cartoons. She found herself caring about how she looked before meeting up with him, brushing her hair twice instead of once, wondering if he’d notice. Neither of them said anything about it. Neither of them needed to.

Sometimes they’d sit under the same old oak tree from elementary school, backs pressed against the trunk, sharing a bag of chips between them like always. The world felt bigger now—louder, more complicated—but under that tree, it was just them. She’d listen to him rant about strict coaches and competitive teammates, reminding him he didn’t have to prove himself to anyone.

They shared everything—from the silly and mundane to the serious and secretive. He was there when she had her first heartbreak over a middle school crush, and she was there when he got in trouble for accidentally breaking a glass window by throwing a football inside the house. No matter what, they had each other, even if their schools were separated by blocks, cliques, and the constant hum of adolescent chaos.

“You know you’re stuck with me, right?” he’d say casually one afternoon, tossing a pebble at the sidewalk.

She’d grin. “Unfortunately.”

But there was comfort in it. In knowing that no matter how confusing middle school became—no matter how separate their hallways were—they still had each other at the end of the day.

Middle school was when they first learned how to miss each other.

And it was also when they learned that some bonds don’t weaken with distance—they stretch, adapt, and quietly grow stronger.

It was during those middle school years that Fernando earned a permanent place in her heart—not just as a friend, but as someone who made the world feel safer, brighter, and somehow more exciting. And even as they started to notice the pull of other friends, other people, there was always that thread connecting them: a loyalty forged in playground battles, scraped knees, and countless hours of laughter.

High school came faster than either of them expected.

Even after all those years, they still ended up at separate schools—Fernando at an all-boys prep academy across town, and (Y/n) at a strict all-girls Catholic school known for its uniforms and impossible math teachers. The distance wasn’t new; they’d done this before in middle school. But high school felt different. Bigger. Louder. More serious.

Still, some things never changed.

Every morning before school, they would text one another. 

Fernando: You still alive?

(Y/n): Barely. Save me.

They’d meet most afternoons at his house. Sometimes they’d sit on the hood of his car, talking about teachers they hated or tests they definitely failed. Other times, they’d just exist in comfortable silence, the kind only lifelong friends understood.

When (Y/n) turned sixteen, getting her driver’s permit was supposed to feel like a step to freedom. Instead, it felt complicated. She sat at the kitchen table staring at the folded paper from the DMV while her dad rushed around in his work uniform, apologizing for the third time that week. He was picking up extra shifts again, dark circles under his eyes, car keys already in his hand before she could even ask if they could practice. “Soon,” he kept promising. “We’ll go this weekend. I’ll clear my schedule.” But weekends came and went, and “soon” kept stretching thinner and thinner. She told him it was okay. She told herself it didn’t matter. But every time she saw other kids from school driving themselves home, something inside her tightened.

Fernando noticed before she ever said it out loud. One afternoon, he leaned against his car in the parking lot after meeting her near the park, squinting at her like he could read the frustration she was trying to hide. “You still haven’t practiced?” he asked casually, though there was nothing casual about the way he watched her face. She shrugged, eyes dropping to the pavement. “My dad’s busy. It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. He could tell by the way her voice went smaller at the end of the sentence. He didn’t give her a speech or make it dramatic. He just reached into his pocket, pulled out his keys, and tossed them to her. “Get in.” She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What?” “I’m teaching you,” he said simply, like there was never another option.

It became their ritual without either of them officially deciding it would. After sunset, when the heat softened and the streets quieted, they’d meet in empty parking lots lit by flickering lamps. Her hands would grip the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned pale, and his would hover near it — not touching, just close enough to steady if needed. “Relax, (Y/n),” he’d laugh when she jerked the wheel too hard. “You’re not driving a spaceship.” “You don’t know that!” she’d shoot back, panic laced through her voice as the car lurched forward. The first time she stalled, she felt tears prick her eyes from embarrassment, mortified at the thought of disappointing him. But he just smiled, told her to breathe, and walked her through it again. The first time she merged onto a real road, her heart pounded so loudly she swore the whole city could hear it, but he stayed calm, steady, patient — the same way he had been when he stood in front of her on the playground all those years ago.

One night, after a drive that felt almost effortless, they parked by the water. The skyline shimmered in the distance, reflections breaking across the surface, the air thick with salt and summer. She leaned back in the seat, adrenaline finally settling, and he nudged her shoulder lightly. “You’re actually good now,” he said, pride softening his voice. She smiled at him, something warm spreading through her chest. “Only because you taught me.” For a second, the world felt suspended. He looked at her longer than usual, like he was seeing her in a new way, something deeper flickering in his eyes — something neither of them dared to name. They didn’t need to. It lingered there anyway, quiet and dangerous.

At school, people started asking questions. Her friends teased her about the “really tall, football guy” from the all-boys academy. She rolled her eyes and insisted they were just best friends. Meanwhile, Fernando got nudged in the locker room about the girl he was always texting, the one whose name lit up his screen when he smiled at nothing. He shrugged it off every time. They were just best friends. Just the girl he defended when they were six. Just the boy who taught her how to drive. Just two kids who had grown up side by side. And maybe that was the problem — because sometimes, when she was driving with him at night, she’d feel a flicker of something terrifying. The person who made her feel safest in the world was also the one who could hurt her the most.

Junior year didn’t ease in gently. It hit Fernando like a countdown clock he could hear ticking in the background of every practice, every game, every scout visit. Football wasn’t just something he loved anymore; it was his way forward. He was a two-star recruit — good, recognized, promising — but not enough to guarantee anything he desires. Not enough for the big programs. Not enough for scholarships that came without conditions. And definitely not enough for his dream school: the University of Miami. He never said how much that stung, but she knew. UMiami had always been the plan. Staying home. Playing under the stadium lights he grew up watching. Knowing she’d be in the stands somewhere, cheering. But the calls weren’t coming the way he’d imagined. Coaches watched. Scouts took notes. Promises stayed vague. The pressure pressed in from all sides.

Practices stretched later into the evening. Film sessions ate up weekends. His texts became shorter, less frequent. When she offered to come over and do homework together like they used to, he’d reply, Next week maybe. She told herself it was temporary. He was stressed. He needed space. But space slowly hardened into distance. What she didn’t know was that the real reason he was pulling away wasn’t just football—it was her. 

Somewhere between teaching her how to drive and watching her walk away in her school uniform every afternoon, something had shifted inside him. He started noticing the way she laughed without holding back, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the way she understood him without him having to explain. And it scared him. Because he couldn’t afford distractions. Not when scouts were watching. Not when his future felt so fragile. Loving her—because that’s what it was turning into —felt like the biggest distraction of all. So he did what teenage boys do when they’re afraid of their own feelings. He ran.

Then the day came when she passed her driving test. Her hands trembled as the instructor handed her license, but her smile was unstoppable. All she could think about were those empty parking lots, his steady voice, the way he believed in her before she believed in herself. She didn’t even go home. She drove straight to his house, windows down, music loud, heart racing with anticipation.

This was their win. She imagined him grinning, teasing her, maybe pulling her into a hug that lingered a little too long. She parked outside, gripping the steering wheel for a moment to steady her nerves, then ran up to the door without texting first. She knocked once. Twice. The door opened — and it wasn’t Fernando. 

It was Lily. Wearing one of his hoodies. The blonde girl—that she would hear rumors of but she didn’t know it was her of all people. 

The world didn’t explode. It didn’t shatter loudly. It just stopped. Lily tilted her head slightly, smirking. “Hey, (Y/n).” And then Fernando’s voice drifted from inside the house. “Who is it?” He stepped into view, and when his eyes landed on her — standing there with her license clutched in her hand, hope written across her face — something inside him visibly cracked. “(Y/n)….” Her smile faltered but didn’t disappear entirely. “I got it,” she said softly, holding up the card like proof of everything they’d worked for together. 

He looked proud. He looked guilty. He looked like he wanted to rewind time. And in that quiet pause, she understood something devastating: he hadn’t pulled away because he didn’t care. He pulled away because he cared too much. But that realization didn’t soften the sting of seeing Lily there, comfortable and possessive. 

Lily, the same girl who had made her middle school years miserable in ways. Fernando just didn't know it was this Lily. “Oh,” she said quietly, stepping back. “I didn’t know you were busy.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I just wanted to say thanks. For teaching me.” Her voice cracked. She turned before he could fix it, before he could explain, before he could say something that might make her stay.

He didn’t sleep that night. The image of her face — not angry, not yelling, just hurt — replayed endlessly. He called. No answer. He texted. I didn’t know you were coming. It’s not what it looked like. Can we talk? The messages delivered. No reply. By midnight, he was driving to her house, the same house he’d known since he was six, the porch where he’d waited countless afternoons, the driveway where she’d nearly cried learning to parallel park. He knocked. Rang the bell. The lights flicked on. 

The door opened — and her dad stood there, older and more protective than Fernando had ever seen him. Fernando stumbled over apologies, asking to see her, just for a minute. Her dad’s voice stayed calm but firm. “She’s home. But now is not a good time. She needs space.” His words landed heavier than any accusation. Inside the house, she stood frozen behind the hallway wall, listening to every word, covering her mouth to stop herself from running to him. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw that hoodie. And her. The memories from middle school kept flooding in. 

“Go home,” her dad said softly. “Let her breathe.” Fernando nodded eventually, defeated. “Tell her I’m proud of her. About the license.” And when his car pulled away, the sound felt louder than anything. That night, they both lay awake staring at separate ceilings, phones glowing in the dark. For the first time since they were six, they didn’t know how to reach each other.

Senior year arrived quietly. It didn’t explode the way junior year had; it simply settled, like dust after something fragile breaks. They weren’t fighting. They just weren’t them anymore. They still followed each other online, still liked the occasional post, still existed in the same city — but the easy rhythm they’d carried for years had thinned into something distant and delicate. She stayed at her all-girls school, walking the same halls in her plaid skirt, surrounded by friends who knew parts of her but never the full story of the boy who once stood between her and the world. And somehow, that felt like the loudest change of all.

Fernando stayed at his all-boys academy, but something in him had changed. The pressure of football was still there, but the excitement wasn’t the same. Scouts had come and gone. A few smaller schools showed interest. UMiami never called.

And that silence said everything.

He didn’t talk about it much. When reporters from the school paper asked about recruitment, he gave rehearsed answers. “Keeping options open.” “Trusting the process.” “Grateful for opportunities.”

But late at night, alone in his room, he stared at the ceiling and thought about how different everything was supposed to look.

In some version of senior year — the one they used to joke about when everything still felt certain — she would’ve been in the stands on Friday nights, wearing his jersey like it was second nature, screaming his name until her voice gave out. He would’ve been planning to go to UMiami, staying close to home, staying close to her. Weekends would still mean bouncing between each other’s houses, her dad teasing him in the kitchen, his mom offering her snacks like she’d always been part of the family. In that version, nothing really changed. They grew up, sure — but together.

In this version, they barely texted.

The silence didn’t happen all at once. It crept in slowly, disguised as homework, practice, college meetings, exhaustion. Some nights Fernando would open their message thread, scroll up past old photos and voice memos and inside jokes that no one else would understand. He’d type her name. Start a sentence. Delete it. Start again. Hey. Delete. Can we talk? Delete. Eventually he’d just lock his phone and stare at the ceiling, telling himself it was better this way. Easier. Cleaner.

Across town, she found herself taking longer routes home than necessary. Sometimes, without thinking, she’d turn down his street, just to see if his car was in the driveway. Just to feel close without actually being seen. The first few times she did it, she told herself it was an accident. After that, she stopped pretending.

College applications became the new distraction — the socially acceptable excuse for emotional avoidance. Everyone was stressed. Everyone was planning their escape. She filled out forms late into the night, essays glowing on her laptop screen while her room sat quiet around her. She considered applying to UMiami. She even had the application pulled up once, cursor blinking in the “Submit” box. But deep down, she knew the only reason she wanted to go there was because of him. Not the campus. Not the program. Not the future. Just him. And she couldn’t build her life around a “maybe.”

So she applied out of state.

Far. Far enough that it made her chest tighten when she looked at a map. Far enough that she wouldn’t accidentally run into memories at the grocery store or drive past the park and feel something collapse inside her. When she told her dad she wanted something new — another fresh start — he studied her carefully. Miami had been their first restart after losing her mom. He knew what running looked like. “That’s a big change,” he said gently. She shrugged, pretending it was about academics, about independence. But he had a feeling it had something to do with Fernando. He just didn’t push.

When acceptance letters started arriving, she didn’t text him pictures the way she would have junior year. She didn’t call to celebrate or panic or overanalyze. Instead, she heard through mutual friends that he’d committed to University of California, Berkeley — Cal Berkeley. Not UMiami. Not the dream he’d carried for years. But still something big. Still something impressive. An opportunity.

She saw the announcement on Instagram before she heard it from him.

Blessed. Grateful. Ready for the next chapter.

There was a photo of him holding up a Cal jersey, the blue and gold bright under LED panel lights. His smile was there — practiced, confident — but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She stared at the screen longer than she meant to, thumb hovering over the heart button before finally pressing it, as if that small tap could substitute for everything they no longer said out loud.

As she looked at the picture, memories layered over it like an old film tape. The six-year-old boy standing in front of her on the playground, fists clenched, telling bigger boys to back off. The fourteen-year-old who biked across town just because she texted him that she’d had a bad day. The sixteen-year-old sitting in the passenger seat, calm and patient while she learned how to drive. The seventeen-year-old who couldn’t quite meet her eyes without something complicated flickering there — something almost said, almost admitted.

And now—

He felt like someone she used to know.

They saw each other one last time before graduation, and of course it wasn’t planned. It never was when it mattered most. She’d stayed late at school for yearbook distribution — her yearbook packed with signatures and scribbled messages about “keeping in touch.” On the way home, she found herself driving toward the park without consciously deciding to. The sun was setting, casting everything in gold — the kind of light that makes ordinary places look cinematic.

He was there.

Sitting on the hood of his car, staring out at nothing in particular.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. It was strange how familiar he still looked — same posture, same quiet intensity — and yet how different everything felt. She parked slowly, stepped out of her car, and walked toward him like she was approaching something fragile, something that might break if she moved too fast.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Hey.”

The word carried years inside it — scraped knees, shared lunches, homework sessions, late-night drives.

They stood there in the golden light, the air thick with everything unsaid. He told her he’d heard she was moving out of state. She congratulated him on Berkeley. He nodded. She nodded. It felt like reading from a script neither of them had written but both understood.

“I always thought we’d…” he began, voice trailing off as if the ending of the sentence scared him.

“Me too,” she admitted.

The breeze moved between them, warm and familiar — the same breeze that had filled a hundred childhood afternoons in that exact spot. But they weren’t kids anymore. Life has edges now. Consequences. Directions.

“You taught me how to drive,” she said after a moment, her voice steady but soft. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”

“You did,” he replied, a faint smile touching his mouth. “You showed up at my house.”

The memory hovered there — painful once, now just tender. He looked at her then, really looked at her, like he was memorizing the shape of her face for later. For when she’d be thousands of miles away from him 

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quietly.

“I know,” she answered.

And she did. That was the tragedy of it. There was no villain in their story. Just timing. Pressure. Fear. Dreams that didn’t align the way they once thought they would.

They both chose growth. Chose futures. Chose pride and opportunity and distance.

They just didn’t choose each other.

Graduation came two weeks later. Caps flew into the air at separate ceremonies under the same sky. Different crowds cheered their names. Different futures waited beyond the stage.

That night, she drove alone one last time through the streets of Miami, windows down, the humid air wrapping around her as city lights blurred past. She wasn’t crying. The tears had already been shed months ago. This time, she just felt the weight of it all — the quiet understanding that growing up isn’t loud. It doesn’t always come with screaming or slammed doors. Sometimes it’s just the slow realization that the person who shaped you the most isn’t meant to stay forever.

Fernando sat on his bedroom floor surrounded by half-packed boxes, holding an old elementary school photo: two kids with scraped knees and crooked smiles, unaware of how complicated life would become. He picked up his phone, opened their message thread, and stared at it for a long time.

He almost texted her.

Almost.

She felt a thrill at the words, the idea of stepping into a city alive with lights and possibilities, hand in hand with him, separate from football, separate from the pressure of rehearsals and crowds. “Adventure, huh? Should I be scared?” she teased.

“Depends,” he said, leaning closer, just enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Are you the kind of person who likes to play it safe—or the kind who dives in headfirst?”

She smirked, matching his gaze. “I dive in. Careful, though… you might not be ready for it.”

The first night was a blur of neon, laughter, and stolen glances. They walked along the Strip, Fernando slipping his hand into hers when no one was looking, the simple gesture sending sparks up her arm. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks, the tension from the season, the injury, the pressure—all melting away with every shared smile and whispered joke.

At dinner, he insisted on ordering her favorite dish without asking, insisting he remembered what she mentioned weeks ago when they texted back and forth. She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the small, soft smile tugging at her lips. Attention like that, careful and intentional, made her chest tighten in a way she hadn’t expected.

Fernando led her down the Strip toward the theater district. “You’re not going to tell me what show this is?” she asked, curiosity sparking in her chest.

“Surprises are part of the fun,” he replied, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

She shook her head, laughing softly. “You’ve been planning this for weeks, haven’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shrugging, though his eyes betrayed how proud he was of himself.

The lights of the theater dazzled her, neon and gold flickering across the marquee as they found their seats. From the moment the curtain rose, she was captivated—not just by the performance, but by the thrill of being somewhere so alive, in a city that never slept, with him by her side. Fernando leaned slightly toward her at times, whispering witty comments about the actors, gently teasing her when she gasped or laughed too loudly. She caught the occasional brush of his hand against hers, subtle but electric, sending little jolts up her arm.

By the finale, when the cast took their bows and the crowd erupted into applause, she found herself smiling at him, heart light, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the stage lights. “That was amazing,” she smiled, turning toward him.

“I knew you’d love it,” he said, eyes glinting. “You know, I really like seeing you smile.” 

Her cheeks heated at the compliment, and she ducked her head, laughing nervously. “Stop it, you’re going to make me blush.”

He leaned closer, his voice soft, teasing, just for her. “Good. I like that.”

By the time they reached their hotel, the city’s glow reflected in their eyes, and the air between them thrummed with something unspoken. She leaned back against the doorframe of her room, letting him pull her gently into the center of the space. “So… this is Vegas,” she murmured, her voice a mix of awe and nervous excitement.

Fernando’s hands brushed hers, thumbs lightly tracing circles, and he grinned. “Vegas, the city of lights… and maybe a little mischief,” he said, his gaze lingering on her like he wanted to memorize every detail.

She caught her breath, heart racing—not from the city, not from the lights, but from him. And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel that pull, the one that had started with a collision on the sidelines and had grown into something electric, thrilling, and completely unavoidable.

His grin softened into something serious, magnetic. Taking a cautious step closer, closing the gap. His knuckles brushed the surface of her face, just lightly at first, then lingered, thumb tracing the soft skin of her cheek. The warmth of him made her shiver, and she realized she hadn’t even noticed how tense her shoulders had been until now.

When his lips met hers, it was soft at first, testing, tentative, but it ignited something that ran straight through her chest. Her hands lifted to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if to anchor herself, and he deepened the kiss, careful, gentle, yet full of all the tension and longing he’d held back.

Time seemed to stop. The city lights, the hum of Vegas, even the sound of their own racing hearts faded. There was just them—two worlds colliding, a spark finally given space to ignite.

When they finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, their foreheads rested together, eyes half-closed, breaths mingling. She laughed softly, breathless. “You’re impossible,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.

“And you make it worth being impossible,” he whispered, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to her temple.

And in that quiet, golden-lit hotel room, it felt like the start of something they’d both been waiting for all season, long before Vegas.

The airport felt colder than Vegas had.

Maybe it was the early morning air. Maybe it was the quiet hum of departure announcements echoing through the terminal. Or maybe it was the fact that neither of them wanted to say goodbye.

Fernando stood in front of her near security, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket like he didn’t trust them not to reach for her again. The weekend glow hadn’t quite faded from his face, but there was something softer there now. Reluctant.

“You sure you don’t want to miss your flight?” he teased lightly. “I could show you round two of Vegas.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Careful now—that seems tempting.”

There it was—that look again. The one that made her stomach flip.

She exhaled slowly. “Well… I guess this is it.”

He nodded, jaw tightening just slightly. “Yeah.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just heavy. The kind that comes when neither person wants to break the moment.

Then she tilted her head, a mischievous smile creeping onto her lips.

“You know,” she said casually, “you could come to Dallas in two weeks.”

He blinked. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” She shrugged like it was nothing. “I can show you around. Dallas has some pretty cool spots, you know.”

He stepped closer again, close enough that her heartbeat picked up. “You serious?” he asked, voice lower now. “About Dallas.”

She pretended to think about it. “Depends. You think you can handle Texas?”

He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Listen, I handled Vegas.”

“I’ll be there though,” he said firmly. “Two weeks. Dallas.”

She smiled—softer this time, less teasing, more hopeful. “Good. I’ll like to see you there.”

Another boarding call echoed through the terminal.

She wrapped her arms around him, and he didn’t hesitate. His embrace was warm, steady, grounding. Different from the charged electricity of their kiss. This felt… real.

“Text me when you land,” he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, then leaned up and kissed him—quick, but lingering. Enough to make the goodbye hurt a little less.

Then she turned toward security, walking backward for a few steps.

“Two weeks, Mendoza!” she called.

And as she disappeared into the crowd, he stood there a second longer than necessary—already counting down the days.

She knew something was off the moment she walked into practice.

The room felt different. Quieter. Conversations that normally buzzed with energy suddenly dropped to whispers. A few girls glanced at her, then quickly looked away. One of the girl’s phone screen flashed her face before it was tilted down.

“(Y/n), have you seen this?” 

Her stomach dropped.

She quickly checked her own phone… It was chaos.

TikTok notifications. Instagram tags. Dozens of DMs. A blurry but unmistakable photo of her and Fernando sitting across from each other at dinner in Vegas—his hand reaching across the table, her laughing mid-smile. Another photo of them entering the theater, his hand at the small of her back.

The captions were worse.

Raiders QB Fernando Mendoza spotted with Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader in Vegas?

Is this what he does to make up for tackling her???

This is messy.

Comment sections were split between people calling it cute and people calling it “unprofessional.”

Her throat tightened.

She hadn’t even posted anything.

“Y/n.”

Coach Kelli’s voice cut through the room like a blade. 

Her head snapped up.

“Office. Now.”

The door shut behind her with a heavy click.

Coach Kelli stood with her arms crossed, and Coach Judy with a tablet in her hand. The screen was paused on a screenshot of her and Fernando outside the theater marquee.

“Would you like to explain this?” Coach Judy asked, voice controlled but clearly irritated.

“It was my off weekend,” she said carefully. “I didn’t violate any team rules.”

“You’re aware of the optics,” Coach Judy replied sharply. “A Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader publicly seen with a Raiders quarterback? This is unacceptable. You know about our rules of dating football players.”

Her jaw tightened. “We weren’t public. Someone took that without us knowing.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Coach said. “Perception matters. Our image matters. You represent this organization at all times.”

The words hit harder than she expected.

“I worked for this,” she said quietly. “I don't see anything wrong here.”

Coach Kelli expression softened just slightly—but only slightly. “This isn’t about right or wrong. It’s about distraction. The media will spin this. Sponsors will ask questions. You need to be more aware.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked, heart pounding.

“I’m saying,” Coach Kelli said firmly, “that whatever this is—you keep it quiet. No more public outings. No more photos. And you focus on your performance. Understood?”

She swallowed.

“Understood.”

Back in the locker room, the noise felt distant.

The girls were chatting, stretching, laughing like nothing had changed —but she felt like she was underwater. Her phone sat heavy in her hand, screen still glowing with the Vegas photos plastered everywhere. TikTok videos. Instagram reels. Comment sections dissecting every frame.

Her stomach twisted.

She opened their messages.

Last text from him was from the airport. Text me when you land.

She swallowed and typed.

(Y/n): I’m guessing you’ve seen what’s going around.

Delivered.

No response.

She locked her phone. Unlocked it again.

Nothing.

Her chest tightened.

Five minutes later, she tried again.

(Y/n): My coaches are really upset.

Delivered.

Still nothing.

She stared at the screen like she could will the typing bubble to appear. It didn’t.

Around her, someone laughed loudly. A teammate glanced over at her — sympathetic, maybe curious.

Her jaw clenched.

She tried one more time.

(Y/n): Are you okay?

Delivered.

And that’s when she realized it.

He had viewed her Instagram story.

But he hadn’t replied.

The realization hit harder than the injury ever did.

Avoiding.

Her throat burned. She set her phone down on the bench and leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor tiles. Maybe his coaches had warned him. Maybe his PR team told him to lay low. Maybe he thought silence would make it disappear.

But silence felt worse.

Silence felt like distance.

Her phone buzzed suddenly.

Her heart leapt—

—but it was just a group chat notification.

She let out a shaky breath, blinking fast to keep her composure. She wasn’t going to cry in the locker room. Not over a boy. Not after everything she’d fought through.

Still… the quiet from him felt loud.

In another state, he was probably being told to “focus on football.” To avoid distractions. To protect his image.

And apparently… she was the distraction.

She picked up her phone one last time, hesitated, then typed:

(Y/n): If this is too much for you, just say that.

Delivered.

She stared at the screen.

No typing bubble. No reply. Just her reflection staring back at her in the dark glass.

For the first time since Vegas, the spark between them didn’t feel electric.

It felt fragile.

A couple days later, she was alone in her apartment.

Hair wrapped in a towel after a long shower. Oversized hoodie. One leg tucked under the other on the couch. The TV was on but muted, some random sitcom playing in the background just to fill the silence.

Her phone rested in her hand as she mindlessly scrolled TikTok.

Dance videos. Game highlights. DCC edits.

Then—

Her stomach dropped.

A ESPN clip from a press conference.

Fernando sitting at the podium, Raiders logo behind him. Microphones stacked in front of him. Flashing cameras. His expression controlled, media-trained.

The caption read:

Fernando Mendoza responds to dating rumors 

Her thumb froze.

A reporter’s voice cut through the speakers:

“Fernando, there’s been a lot of social media speculation about you and a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader being seen together in Vegas. Care to comment?”

Her heart began pounding in her ears.

He shifted slightly in his chair. Cleared his throat.

Then he smiled—that calm, easy, quarterback smile.

“There’s nothing to comment on,” he said lightly. “It was nothing. Just two people grabbing dinner. I’m focused on football.”

Nothing.

Just two people.

Focused on football.

The video zoomed in dramatically. The comments were already flooding in.

“Ouch.” “He folded.” “She’s probably crying rn.” “PR got to him.”

She couldn’t breathe for a second.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

Her mind replayed Vegas—the show, the laughter, the kiss in the hotel room, the way he said he’ll come to visit her here.

It was nothing? She understood if they needed to lay low for a while but completely dismissing what is going on between them and not responding to her? What a fucking coward, she thought.

Her jaw tightened. She replayed the clip. Maybe she misheard. Replayed the clip again. Maybe he hesitated longer than she remembered. Replayed the clip again. Maybe there was something in his tone that meant more.

But no.

He looked composed. Detached. Clean.

Like it really was nothing.

Her phone felt heavy in her hand.

She didn’t cry.

That was the worst part.

She just felt… small.

Embarrassed.

Like she had imagined something bigger than it was.

A notification popped up at the top of her screen.

Fernando.

Her heart stuttered.

She opened it.

Fernando: Hey.

That was it. Just hey.

She stared at the screen for a long time.

Then she locked her phone. Set it face down on the coffee table.

And let the silence sit.

A week later, practice ran late. The other girls trickled out in pairs, laughing, car keys jingling, bags slung over shoulders. She stepped out last.

Head down. Hoodie thrown over her practice tank.

She almost didn’t see him at first.

But then she did.

Leaning against a black SUV near the curb.

Fernando.

Hands in his pockets. Jaw tight. Like he’d been standing there for a while.

Her stomach dropped.

For a split second, everything in her body reacted the way it used to—heart skipping, breath catching.

Then she remembered the press conference.

It was nothing.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice flat.

He straightened immediately. Relief flashed across his face just from her acknowledging him. “I’ve been trying to talk to you.”

“I noticed.”

Her tone wasn’t sharp. It was worse—controlled.

“I didn’t mean what I said like that,” he rushed out. “At the press conference. You know how that stuff is. They twist things, they bait you—”

“You said it was nothing. No one twisted you to say anything.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounded exactly like what you meant.”

Silence stretched between them.

A car drove past. A few teammates slowed their steps, clearly watching.

He took a cautious step closer. “I had my coach, my agent, PR — everyone in my ear telling me to shut it down. To protect the team. I panicked.”

She let out a small, humorless laugh. “So I was damage control?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You were the thing I didn’t know how to protect.”

Her eyes flickered, just slightly—but she held her ground.

“You could’ve texted me,” she said quietly. “You let me sit there and watch that like I was some random headline.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve started with the truth.”

Another long pause.

The wind picked up slightly, lifting loose strands of her hair.

He looked different now than he did in the video of the press conference. Not confident. Not media-trained. Just… nervous.

“I flew here,” he said softly. “Because it wasn’t nothing.”

Her heart betrayed her with a small, painful squeeze.

But she forced her expression to stay steady.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “You told the world it was nothing. That’s what it is now.”

That hit him.

Physically.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “So that’s it? You’re just done?”

“I’m busy,” she said evenly. “I’m focused on dance.”

The words were intentional.

A mirror of his.

He flinched.

She stepped around him toward her car.

“Y/n,” he called after her, voice cracking just slightly.

She didn’t turn around.

For a split second, it looked like he might reach for her — but he didn’t.

Instead, he stood there in the parking lot as she drove away.

Weeks had rolled into months.

Every day, like clockwork, his phone would buzz with a message from him. Tiny, meaningless things at first—snippets about practice, game prep, or the weather even.

Fernando: Quick lift session this morning. Felt strong. You?

Fernando: Watched film for three hours. You’d make fun of how serious I look.

Fernando: Coffee before media day… I think I overdid it on sugar. 

Fernando: Hope practices are going okay.

And every single time, no matter how much his chest ached, no matter how much he missed her, she didn’t respond. Not once.

But he kept texting. Always. Because it was the only way he could still reach her. Even if she refused to meet him halfway, even if she ignored him, even if the world thought it was nothing.

Tonight, the Raiders were up against Dallas. Their rivalry was fierce, the stadium packed with fans screaming, banners waving. Fernando could barely focus.

He couldn’t stop seeing her.

Not on the TV screens. Not in the stands. Not in any distraction. She was there— perfect in her uniform, performing with her other teammates, pom-poms snapping in perfect rhythm. Every kick, every jump, every spin burned into his peripheral vision.

He couldn’t focus. Plays were missed. Timing was off. Audibles slipped past him. Every time he glanced her way, every time their eyes (or at least the thought of them) met across the field, his hands shook ever so slightly.

By the fourth quarter, his frustration was palpable. The offensive line shot him confused looks. “Mendoza, snap out of it!”

He swallowed hard, jaw tight. She’s dancing. She’s fine. It’s just a game. Focus.

But it wasn’t just a game anymore.

After the final whistle, fans erupted with cheers and other fans groaned at the outcome of the game. But the reporters surged forward like a tide, cameras flashing, microphones thrust under his face.

“Fernando! What happened out there?”

He froze for a second, then exhaled. Deep. Too deep. And the words spilled out before he could stop them.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he said, voice low but steady, raw with honesty. “I… I’ve been distracted for months. Not by the game, not by my performance… by her. She’s… important to me, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her.”

Reporters murmured. Cameras flashed.

“The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader?” the reporter asked, eyebrows raised.

Fernando didn’t hesitate. “Yes. And I screwed up. I wasn’t honest before, and I tried to keep it private, but… it’s not nothing. It’s never been nothing.”

Everyone on the field was packing up. Fernando spotted her immediately—cooling herself down with water, while chatting with one of her teammates. His heart pounded as he pushed through the crowd, leaving his helmet with a trainer. Each step toward her felt impossible, like the field itself stretched and pulled against him. 

“Y/n!” he called, voice carrying over the noise.

She didn’t stop. She didn’t even glance his way. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not after months of silence. But he didn’t stop either. He reached the edge of the sideline, close enough to see her sweat glint under the stadium lights, and to see the tiny line of tension around her eyes. 

“Y/n!” he tried again, more urgently.

Her routine finished, and she turned toward him, expression guarded, arms crossed as if bracing herself.

Fernando took a deep breath, heart hammering, hands slightly trembling. “I’ve been an idiot,” he said, voice low, almost pleading. “I didn’t tell you the truth. Vegas… the airport… everything. I said it was nothing, but it’s never been nothing. You’re… you’re everything I can’t stop thinking about. And I don’t care about PR, or the media, or the game. I just—”

He reached a hand toward her, slow, careful, almost hesitant.

Her eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face, reading every line of sincerity, every ounce of vulnerability he usually masked so well on the field.

The stadium noise faded completely around them. For the first time in months, it was just him and her.

Her chest heaved as she stood frozen, watching him step closer. His hand reached toward her again, slow, deliberate, like he was afraid she might vanish if he moved too fast.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t move.

The flashing cameras blurred into the background. All she could see was him—Fernando Mendoza, sweat still clinging to his hair, eyes wide and honest in a way she’d never seen off the field. Vulnerable. Human.

“You’ve been lying,” she said softly, almost a whisper. “Not about Vegas… about yourself. About us.”

“I know,” he said, voice rough, low, desperate. “I’ve been an idiot. I tried to protect you, to protect me… but I can’t anymore. I can’t pretend it’s nothing. It’s never been nothing.”

Her heart hammered. Her throat ached. Months of frustration, anger, longing—all the silence, the avoidance, the teasing tension—poured into this single moment.

She took a shaky breath, then another. Slowly, she lifted her hand, letting it brush against his. A spark shot through her chest. It was tentative, testing the waters.

“I… I don’t know if I should,” she admitted, voice breaking just slightly.

“I’ll take it slow,” he promised instantly. “I swear. Just… don’t shut me out anymore.”

Her lips trembled, and then she made a choice she hadn’t thought she’d allow so soon. She stepped forward, closing the tiny space between them, and pressed her hands against his chest.

“I… I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

Fernando’s eyes softened, relief flooding his features. He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks, and leaned in. This time, there was no hesitation. No testing. Just the weight of months of longing, frustration, and unspoken feelings poured into a kiss.

It was slow. Electric. Full of fire and warmth, like finally letting air into lungs that had been holding their breath for far too long.

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping lightly, holding him close as the world melted away. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her waist, careful not to rush but impossible to stop.

When they finally pulled back, barely enough to breathe, their foreheads rested together. Hearts pounding, breaths mingling, smiles shy but bright.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured, voice soft.

“I know,” he whispered back, grinning. “But lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

She laughed quietly, the tension finally breaking. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you… finally let me in,” he said, voice warm, sincere. “That’s all I needed.”

The locker room was buzzing after the game but Fernando felt lighter than he had all season.

Y/n had stayed at the sideline after their moment, letting him walk her to the edge of the field before she finally leaned in, kissing him again briefly, just to seal what had been months of tension.

But apparently… not everyone had missed it.

By the time he stepped into the Raiders’ locker room, his teammates were already smirking, eyes darting at him like they knew a secret he hadn’t planned to share.

“Dude… FINALLY,” one of the linemen shouted, clapping him on the back so hard he nearly toppled. “We’ve been watching you pine like a lovesick teenage boy for months. About time!”

Fernando groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up, guys. You don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, we know,” another player teased, grinning wickedly. “We saw it on the sideline. Stadium cameras didn’t miss a thing. You were a mess out there!”

“I was distracted!” he defended, trying not to blush. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated?” a rookie laughed. “Bro, you were staring at her every play! Everyone saw it! You’re basically a walking highlight reel of pining!”

Fernando pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m aware. Okay?”

Meanwhile, back on social media, the clips were already blowing up. Fans, reporters, and media outlets had captured the sideline moment—her leaning into him, their kiss brief but unmistakable. Headlines were popping up everywhere:

Raiders QB Fernando Mendoza finally admits the truth about the romance

Vegas sparks on the sidelines: Mendoza and Cowboys cheerleader caught in a kiss!

Rivalry turned romance: NFL stars end months of speculation.

Her phone buzzed nonstop with alerts, messages from teammates, and friends. She groaned, flipping onto the couch at home, still in her uniform, scrolling through the chaos.

“Figures,” she muttered.

Then a notification popped up

Fernando: Are you okay with this?

She stared at it.

(Y/n): Do I have a choice?

Fernando: I’d rather deal with it with you than without you.

She smiled despite herself, the tension from the past months finally melting away.

Back in the locker room, Fernando shook his head as his teammates continued teasing him mercilessly. “I’ve had it with you guys,” he muttered, though a small grin tugged at his lips.

“Relax, Mendoza,” one of his teammates said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve officially got the best sideline view in the league.”

Fernando rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she had let him in, the soft smile she gave when she read his texts, and that kiss that had finally made everything real.

And for the first time in months, he knew one thing for certain: no headline, no media frenzy, no rivalry could ever compete with her.

They wanted their relationship to stay completely private—and when they did get caught? The media lived for it, dissecting every glance, every touch, every moment. The attention was relentless, and not everyone was thrilled. The coaches weren’t exactly fans of the distraction, but Fernando and (Y/n) didn’t care—they were too busy navigating the chaos together, thriving in their own little bubble amid the noise.

The moment Fernando sees her DCC cameos, his chest tightens.  Not like panic—more like holy… that’s mine. The uniform, the pose, the smile… makes him shift in his seat in a bit. After staring at them for so long, he saves them as his screensaver.

At home, she practically lives in his Raiders merch—hoodies, oversized t-shirts, even sweats when he lets her steal them whenever she visits Las Vegas. The pieces that smell like him are her favorite and helps her sleep at night. He GLOATS with the fact that she wears his merch more than the Cowboys merch.

They had a whole debate about which is harder: football or dance. Fernando was very adamant that football is by far harder until (Y/n) made him do the thunderstruck dance from start to finish… he had a hard time marching 5 yards in just 4 counts… which is in the beginning. He then for sure thinks dance is harder and has a lot more admiration for them.

Fernando has a secret file saved on his phone—up-close videos of her dancing every routine she’s done. He doesn’t just watch casually—he analyzes. How her muscles move, the precision of her kicks, the way her core is locked. His teammates know he’s obsessed with game film, but this? They can’t imagine.

When the Raiders and Cowboys are playing against each other again, (Y/n) secretly roots for him. She can’t hide her excitement when he scores a touchdown, letting out a quiet, happy yip that catches even the fans off guard. Fernando notices from the field and can’t resist—he tries to make his way to the sidelines for a quick, sneaky kiss. The problem? Coaches, Kelli, and Judy are not thrilled about the display, shooting them sharp looks that make (Y/n) bite back a laugh while Fernando grins sheepishly.

He learns her world like a playbook. He asks about choreography, camp cuts, routines, and the politics of dance just as seriously as he studies his own playbook. He remembers which practices drain her the most and which routines hurt her ankles or knees.