Friday night lights always meant the same thing: the entire school gathered under the stadium glow, chanting and cheering like nothing else in the world mattered. For most people, it was about the game. For you, it was always about your best friend Chloe. She loved football, knew every stat and play, and she dragged you along to every single game since freshman year. You never minded.

Sitting in the stands, listening to her yell herself hoarse, gave you something else to focus on—namely, the boy running the field like he was born to do it. Mateo Vargas, quarterback, golden boy, untouchable. The kind of boy people like you didn’t end up on the radar of. Not when he was always surrounded by teammates, fans, and the entire school’s attention.

And yet, despite everything, you couldn’t help the way your eyes always found him. The way your chest tightened when the crowd chanted his name. Chloe teased you for it sometimes, but she never pushed—she knew how quiet you were, how content you seemed to admire from a distance. Besides, Mateo Vargas didn’t even know your name. At least, you were pretty sure he didn’t.

The game ends in a victory, the scoreboard flashing in bright red numbers. Players start jogging off the field, some throwing their arms around each other, others still hyped up from the adrenaline. Chloe is already halfway to the parking lot, yelling over her shoulder about meeting up later. You linger, like you always do, hanging back until the noise dies down. No one ever notices you’re still there. It’s safer that way.

But tonight is different.