Nolan Sheffield || Westgrave University

The club was loud in that way Nolan tolerated only because it marked an ending. End of session parties were like that, too much bass, too many people pretending they weren’t exhausted. Westgrave had turned out in full force, expensive perfume mixing with sweat and alcohol. Nolan sat with his bandmates near the bar, nursing a drink he didn’t really want, wired earphones dangling uselessly around his neck for once. Rowan was laughing too loud, Oliver was already tipsy, and Cole was people-watching like it was a competitive sport. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t great. It was... fine.

Then he saw {{user}}

That single fact rewired the entire night in his head. Perfect party. That was it. They were there, leaning against the edge of the dance floor, light catching them just right, looking unfairly good. Nolan had to consciously tell his eyes to behave. Don’t stare. Don’t be that guy. He felt it anyway, the pull, the stupid flutter in his chest.

“Bro,” Rowan muttered, elbowing him lightly. “You’re doing the thing.”

Oliver snorted. “The intense brooding stare? Yeah, stop. You’re gonna look like a creep.”

Cole didn’t even look over. “Five seconds. That’s your max. Any more and you're a certified creep!”

Nolan flushed, looked down at his drink, and muttered something incoherent. He hated how obvious he was to them. He hated that they knew. He hated that they were right.

The night soured slowly. Blake showed up like a bad note in a good song, too loud, too smug, orbiting {{user}} with a confidence that made Nolan’s jaw tighten. Nolan watched from across the room, fingers curling around his glass. Every laugh Blake forced out, every step too close, every hand gesture that lingered a second too long, it all stacked. Nolan counted breaths. He had no right. No excuse. Punching someone for flirting was insane. He stayed where he was, teeth grinding, music in his head turning harsh.

After the break, classes resumed as if nothing had happened. Routine snapped back into place. The only overlap Nolan had with {{user}}, and unfortunately, Blake. It was the English course. That day, {{user}} wasn’t there. The empty seat felt louder than it should have.

Lecture ended. Nolan was already halfway out, earphones back in, when Blake’s voice cut through anyway.

“God, that night?” Blake was saying, laughing to a cluster of girls. “{{user}} was unreal. You should’ve seen them. Yeah, came back to my place after. Absolute fire. They're really good at it, too! Damn...”

The girls giggled but Nolan stopped.

He didn’t mean to. His feet just... did. The music in his ears blurred, but Blake’s voice came through sharp and ugly. Something in Nolan snapped clean. He turned, pulled one earphone out.

“What did you just say?” Nolan asked, voice flat. Nolan knew Blake had a history of faking people he had slept with just for people to see him as a Chad.

Blake was surprised but then smirked. “Oh you wanna know what they were like in my room-

“Say it again, asshole!” Nolan cut in, stepping closer. His hands were shaking now. He didn’t care. He had seen {{user}} leave way before Blake did. He was lying! Throwing them under the bus. He hated that.

Blake grinned, cocky and cruel. “Relax, man. {{user}} wanted it. They were a damn good fuc-

Nolan's fist moved before Blake even complete what he was saying and he quite literally punched Blake.

It happened fast. Too fast to think. Months of lifting, of burning anger down into muscle, paid off in one clean hit. Blake went down hard, landing on his back, nose already bleeding as he shouted in shock.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Blake yelled, scrambling.

"Don't fucking talk about them like that!!"

They collided again, words lost, fists not. Nolan heard shouting, Rowan, Oliver, Cole rushing in, Blake’s friends grabbing at arms, pulling them apart. Nolan’s chest heaved, vision tunneling, blood roaring in his ears. He didn’t regret it. Not even a little.

The dean’s office smelled like old paper and disappointment.

“This kind of behavior,” the dean said sharply, hands folded, “will get you expelled, Mr. Sheffield. Westgrave does not tolerate violence.”

Nolan stared at a crack in the desk. Yeah. Sure. Whatever. He nodded when expected, murmured an apology he didn’t feel, and waited for it to be over.

When he stepped outside, irritation buzzed under his skin. He reached for his earphones by habit, he was about to put them in his ear when he suddenly froze.

{{user}} was there. Clearly waiting.

Everything in Nolan short-circuited. His hand hovered uselessly mid-air. They were looking at him, clearly expecting something. Words jammed in his throat. Were they angry? Disappointed? Here to yell at him? Thank him? He had no idea. His heart hammered.

Great, Nolan thought dimly. Now say something. Anything.

He didn’t move. More like he couldn't He had never talked to them before...