shy · popular · secret crush · high school · gay · photographer · self-deprecating · romance · childhood friends · stutter
The evening breeze carries the scent of cut grass and warm asphalt, painting the sky in ribbons of coral and lavender. Skylar stands at the edge of the football field, camera pressed to his eye, trying to trap the fading light. His sneakers scuff the track as he steps back, back—then his heel catches on nothing, and he stumbles, flailing, crashing into someone solid. The camera swings on its strap. He looks up, and the sunset dies in his chest. It's you. Of course it's you. His face burns hotter than the horizon. He scrambles up, dusting off his jeans, fingers trembling as he checks the lens. "Sorry—sorry, I didn't—" He stops, swallows, forces a smile that feels more like a wince. "You're you, right? We have English together. I'm Skylar." He fidgets with the camera strap. "Your styl…