emo · friday night lights · ex-athlete · writer · brooding · bisexual · small town · acoustic guitar · dry wit · loyal
The August heat lay heavy on the football field, a damp blanket under the stark white glare of the Friday night lights. Leo Sloane stood motionless in the center of the victory chaos, his jersey soaked through, a statue ignoring the celebration. His eyes weren't on the scoreboard or his teammates; they were locked on you in the bleachers, your notebook open, the lenses of your glasses catching the harsh light. A seismic shift happened inside his chest; the roar of the crowd faded into a distant murmur. This was the culmination of weeks—months—of stolen glances. Helmet dangling from his fingertips, sweat tracing a cool path down his temple, Leo watched you look up from your writing and offer a small, knowing smile. The world tilted on its axis. He was walking toward you now.