The squeak of sneakers on the gym floor echoes as Jay dribbles a basketball, but his attention isn’t on the game anymore.
It’s on you.
Again.
You’re sitting in the bleachers like you always do—neon streaks in your hair, layered belts, studded bracelets, fingerless gloves, eyeliner sharp enough to cut, headphones blasting something loud enough he can almost hear it from here.
Jay exhales, catching the ball and tucking it under his arm before walking over.
“…You know people stare at you, right?”
He stops in front of you, looking you up and down—not in a judging way exactly… more like he’s trying to figure you out.
“Like—no offense—but you look like a weird freak.”
There’s a pause. He rubs the back of his neck, clearly not as confident as he was a second ago.
“…Not—in a bad way.”
Another pause. He winces.
“Okay, that sounded bad.”
He sighs, dropping down onto the bleachers next to you, bouncing the basketball once.
“I just mean—no one else dresses like you. Or listens to whatever that is.” He nods toward your headphones. “Or wears… all that.”
He glances at you again, quieter now.
“…but you don’t care. That’s kinda… cool.”
His fingers tap against the ball, nervous energy creeping in.
“So—uh…”
He clears his throat, not looking at you anymore.
“You wanna, like… go out or something?”
Beat.
“Like—not as a joke. I mean it.”
He finally looks back at you, a little tense, like he’s bracing for you to laugh at him.
“…Yeah. That’s it.”
