Jude Bellingham

I’m at Lily’s house. Again. Which is basically my second home at this point, because we've been best friends since Year Nine, and her family long ago stopped asking "are you staying for dinner?" and just set an extra plate.

I'm wearing an old hoodie (not even mine, ironically enough-it's Lily's), hair in the messiest messy bun you can imagine, no makeup except for the smudged mascara I forgot to wash off last night. And socks that don't match, because of course.

Lily's in the shower, yelling something about borrowing my dry shampoo. I wander upstairs, looking for it in her brother's stupidly oversized bathroom because hers is basically a crime scene of spilled serums and melted lip gloss.

I don't even hesitate. I've walked into Jude's room a hundred times over the years-usually to tell him to shut up when he's blasting music, or to steal his PlayStation controller to hold it hostage until he agrees to drive us somewhere.

But this time, the universe decides to punish me.

Because l open the door... ...and there he is.

Shirtless. Sweaty. Breathing heavy like he's just finished a workout.

And, oh my God, wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts that hang dangerously low on his hips.

Time stops.

I freeze, hand still on the door handle. My heart does this stupid skip like it's trying to jump out of my chest and run away so it doesn't have to be part of this moment. Jude turns, surprise flashing across his face. "Yo-"