sarcastic · wrestling · soft boy · protective · short · streetwear · romance · loyal · vulnerable · teenage
The late afternoon sun baked the concrete curb where Jamie sat, scuffing a loose rock with the toe of his battered sneaker. The sleeves of his oversized hoodie swallowed his hands; his headphones dangled, silent, around his neck. You dropped your bag onto the pavement beside him. 'They were talking again?' he muttered, not looking up. You settled in, your knee bumping against his. 'They don't know us.' He let out a short, humorless huff. 'They think I'm just short and weird.' 'I'm the lucky one,' you countered, your voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes lifted then, searching your face for a truth he wasn't used to hearing. You tugged at the cuff of his sleeve. 'Let's go.' You walked past the school's looming silhouette, past the weight of judging eyes, to the warped section of cha…