Chapter Text
He hated it. He really, absolutely hated it.
Sitting amidst the crowded, noisy stands, he still couldn’t believe he had allowed himself to be dragged to this stupid high school championship, he looked down at the field, where tall, buff dudes were brutally fighting over a piece of metal—a trophy that wouldn’t even stay with them, but would end up rotting in some school display case. How could people even like it? Being crippled for what? For a few seconds of pointless glory? The crowd around him erupted into deafening cheers and screams the moment their team scored. A roar of unbridled euphoria tore through the stands, leaving Chase’s bitter mood completely isolated.
Grayson, sitting right next to him, was the complete opposite. Honestly, Grayson didn’t even care about the game itself. He was just the kind of guy who loved spending time with his younger brother—even if it meant dragging Chase out by force. In fact, the only reason he had agreed to come was Grayson’s solemn promise: one month of complete peace. It was a fair trade for thirty days of uninterrupted silence. Unlike Chase, who remained still, Grayson erupted along with the rest of the stadium, jumping up and down and cheering like a giddy kid.
"Did you see that, Chase?! That was insane!" Grayson yelled right into his ear, slamming a heavy hand onto Chase's shoulder. Chase winced, trying to disappear deeper into the oversized fabric of his hoodie. Pulling the hood lower over his eyes, he shot his brother a murderous glare. So much for a month of peace.
"Get off me," Chase muttered, his voice dripping with venom as he aggressively shrugged Grayson’s heavy hand off his shoulder. "I'm not blind. I saw it."
Of course, he hadn't been paying attention, but he would say anything just to make his brother shut up. Dark, annoyed eyes scanned the field, searching for the source of all this frenzied excitement. As the gaze swept across the grass, it locked onto a single figure right in the center of the celebrating team. It was the quarterback—the team captain, wearing a white jersey with a bold number 21 stretched across his broad chest. Suddenly, a few of the biggest players hoisted him straight up onto their shoulders, lifting high above the chaotic crowd. The entire stadium went absolutely feral, and right there, elevated above everyone else, the boy ripped his helmet off.
As he threw his hands in the air, messy strands of light brown hair, soaked in sweat, tumbled onto his forehead. He was laughing, showing a wide, completely unmasked smile that expressed nothing but pure, unfiltered joy. He was like a burst of California sunshine—vibrant, open, and so blindingly bright that it felt almost impossible to look away. Chase’s gaze lingered, tracing the sharp, flawless line of the boy's jaw now that the helmet was gone. But what truly trapped his attention were his eyes—a striking, piercing shade of green that seemed to hold a captivating light of their own, even from this distance. Buried under the layers of his baggy clothing, Chase felt like he was watching someone from a completely different world.
He wanted nothing more than to look away, to hide back from the noise and ignore everyone. But he couldn't. For some frustrating reason, that stupidly bright smile held his gaze like a magnet, and his eyes flat out refused to move. Right then, his mind went completely blank. His heart started racing, pounding against his ribs with a sudden, terrifying wave of excitement as he stared at the handsome guy on the field. What exactly was this feeling? Chase clenched his fists inside his pockets, a sudden flash of panic hitting him. Was he dying? Was his heart literally failing him right here on the bleachers? He forgot how to breathe for a second, his throat tightening. Everyone around him, the stands and the field erupted in a chaotic surge of pure, wild energy—people were jumping, hugging, and screaming until their throats were raw. The whole place was drowning in an ear-splitting wave of celebration. Yet, staring at the boy on the field, Chase felt a sudden rush forcing his blood to run hot, making him feel agonisingly, undeniably alive.
A hand suddenly started waving frantically right in front of Chase’s face.
"Earth to Chase? Anyone home?" Grayson’s voice broke through the noise. He snapped his fingers next to Chase’s ear, but when his brother didn't even blink, Grayson let out a heavy, overly dramatic sigh. He dropped his hands and crossed his arms, pouting like a betrayed child.
"Wow. Unbelievable," Grayson scoffed, shaking his head with mock hurt. "I literally drag you out of your cave, organize this high-quality time for us, and you just sit here frozen like a statue? I’m pouring my soul out into helping you socialize, and you're just straight up ignoring me? The disrespect is real, Chase. Real."
When Chase still didn't roll his eyes or snap back, Grayson paused. His dramatic pout melted into a slight frown, squinted his eyes, and then followed the exact line of Chase’s frozen gaze straight down to the field—right to where the quarterback was still laughing, his broad shoulders catching the sun. A slow, incredibly smug grin spread across Grayson’s face. He leaned in close, nudging Chase hard with his elbow.
"Ohhh, I see," Grayson cooed in a mock-whisper, his eyes dancing with pure mischief. "So that’s why you suddenly look like you've seen a ghost. Or, wait... is Captain Gloom actually blushing? Are you checking out our star quarterback, Chase?"
The words hit Chase like a bucket of ice water. The spell instantly broke, and he violently flinched backward, his face flaring an even deeper, furious shade of red. He quickly shoved Grayson away and yanked his hood so low it practically covered his nose.
"Shut up," Chase snapped, his voice tight and completely choked up as he forced his eyes down to his sneakers. "I wasn't looking at anyone. Stop being an idiot." Grayson let out a loud, delighted laugh, throwing his arm back around Chase’s neck.
"Sure, buddy. Keep telling yourself that! Your face literally looks like a tomato right now!"
That was it. Chase had officially hit his limit. He roughly yanked Grayson's arm off, his heart hammering in a chaotic mix of embarrassment and fury. Without a word, he forced his gaze onto the rough concrete of the bleachers, refusing to look back at the field. In one swift, desperate motion, he stood up, pulling his oversized hood low until it swallowed his face. He pushed past Grayson, nearly knocking over a cheerleader in his haste, and bolted. He ran blindly, the madness of the celebration still roaring behind him. He didn’t look back once, weaving through the dense mass of screaming students, desperate to escape. The chaos surged, yet all he could focus on was him. How was it possible for a complete stranger to trigger such an overwhelming, suffocating reaction? He needed air. He needed to hide. He needed to escape. to be continued hehe