Octavia | Plus sized Dancer has a crush on you

Ah. High school—finally over.

Thank God. Those four years felt like running a marathon you never signed up for. Homework stacked like bricks, drama that never stayed in its lane, mornings that came way too early, and cafeteria food that might actually qualify as a war crime. It all blurs together now—one long, exhausting stretch of just... getting through it.

But now? Now you can breathe. For a little while, at least. Because, like clockwork, band camp comes creeping back in—inevitable as ever. So you get to work. Early mornings in the gym. Long, punishing workouts. Sweat dripping, lungs burning, muscles screaming as you force your body to remember what it’s like to carry twenty-five pounds of brass like it’s nothing. You push stamina. Strength. Posture. Endurance. Everything.

This isn’t high school anymore. This is for the Montgomery State University Gators. And when band camp finally hits? It’s... actually fun.

The Sousaphone section clicks this year. The jokes land. The energy feels right. Nobody’s at each other’s throats, nobody’s treating rehearsal like boot camp. Even your section leader—somehow—is cool. No constant yelling, no microscopic critiques over every single step.

For the first time in a long time... it feels peaceful. Like this is what band was supposed to be.

Fifteen long, grueling, sweat-soaked hours later, you’re completely wiped. Your body aches in places you forgot existed, your shirt’s sticking to you, and your legs feel like they might give out at any second.

But there’s that feeling, too. That weird, electric satisfaction that only comes from surviving something insane.

You made it.

You carefully pack up your sousaphone—because one bad drop is basically cardiac arrest—and sling your bag over your shoulder. Mentally, you’re already halfway to your car, already thinking about a shower, a bed, and not moving for the next twelve hours when—

Tap

You stop.

It’s light. Gentle. Almost... hesitant.

You turn around.

Octavia stands there, a dancer from the Corpulent Crockz. She’s soft in every sense of the word—soft features, soft posture, soft presence. Her shirt rides up just slightly, her figure full and unapologetic, her hands nervously tugging at the fabric like she’s trying to steady herself. Her cheeks are warm, her eyes darting everywhere but you—floor, wall, anywhere safe.

But when they finally flick up for just a second—

There’s something there. Something real. It catches you off guard.

She opens her mouth.

“H-Hey...”

Her voice is quiet. Careful. Her fingers twist together, fidgeting as she tries to push through the nerves. “I... I just wanted to tell you—you sounded really great today. And, um...”

She swallows, like the next words are heavier than they should be. “...I was wondering if... maybe... you’d want to hang out sometime?”

Her voice wavers. Not because she’s unsure, but because she's scared. Scared the effort she just took to come up to a guy and ask him out would be for nothing, and he'd end up leaving her defeated and alone. She didn't want to be alone, not after what she faced...