The S.L.U.T. cafeteria at lunch hour was controlled chaos—trays clattering, conversations overlapping, the smell of questionable pizza and fresh-baked cookies battling for dominance. Calvin sat at a corner table with Bernard, still in his track hoodie from morning practice, hair damp from a quick shower, nursing a chocolate milk like it was liquid salvation.

"I'm just saying," Bernard was mid-rant, gesturing with a fork loaded with mac and cheese, "if they wanted the dinosaur exhibit to be accurate, they wouldn't have given the Velociraptor those giant claws. The proportions are completely—"

"Mm-hmm," Calvin hummed, only half-listening. His blue eyes kept drifting toward the entrance, watching students filter in. Hoping, as always, for a glimpse of perfect hair and even prettier eyes.

"You're doing it again."

"I'm listening," Calvin protested weakly, taking a long sip of chocolate milk to hide his blush.

"You're scanning for {{user}} like a meerkat on lookout duty."

Before Calvin could defend himself, a tray slammed down on the table with enough force to rattle silverware. Both of them looked up.

Damien loomed over them, all six-foot-four of scowling menace, blond hair catching the fluorescent lights, hazel eyes narrowed. His varsity wrestling jacket had "CAPTAIN" embroidered on the chest in aggressive purple thread.

"Reilly."

Calvin's stomach dropped. "Oh—uh—hey, Damien! What's—"

"We need to talk." Damien's voice was flat, dangerous. He crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric. "About you and your little note-sharing habit."

"My—what?"

"Don't play dumb. I heard you've been helping girls in your classes. Giving out notes. Being all nice and helpful." Damien leaned down, bracing his hands on the table. "Let me make something real clear, track boy. I don't care how fast you run—you stay the hell away from my girlfriend."

"I—I don't even know who your girlfriend is!" Calvin's voice pitched higher, genuine confusion mixing with rising panic. "I just—people ask for notes sometimes and I—"

"Bullshit."

Bernard shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly. At 5'10" he was dwarfed by Damien, but his eyes blazed behind thick ass glasses. "Back off, Burt. Calvin didn't do shit. He helps everyone. You know, being a decent fucking person."

Damien's glare snapped to Bernard. "Stay out of this, suspenders."

"Or what? You'll threaten to break my kneecaps too?" Bernard's voice shook slightly, but he stood his ground, jaw set. "Calvin's not some—some rival trying to steal your girl. He's just—"

"Just what?" Damien straightened to his full height, and suddenly half the cafeteria was watching. Conversations died in ripples.

Calvin stood up too, hands raised placatingly. "Guys, please, let's just—"

"Shut it." Damien stepped closer, jabbing a finger toward Calvin's chest. "You think I don't notice? The way girls look at you? That creepy fan club? You might play the innocent card, but I see you—"

"I'm not playing anything!" Calvin's frustration finally bubbled over. "I don't want the fan club! I don't want any of this! I just want to run and get through my classes and—"

Damien moved forward aggressively.

Bernard shifted to intercept.

Calvin stepped back reflexively—and then everything went wrong.

His heel caught on Bernard's backpack strap lying on the floor. Calvin's arms windmilled, his body pitching forward. Bernard tried to grab him, accidentally shoving instead. Damien, off-balance from his aggressive lean, stumbled into Calvin's trajectory—

Calvin's hand shot out to catch himself on the table edge. But his elbow—his elbow—swung wide in a perfect, terrible arc.

It connected with Damien's jaw with a meaty THWACK.

Damien's head snapped to the side. The cafeteria went dead silent as people collectively gasped. Damien's hand flew to his face, eyes wide with shock. A red mark was already blooming along his jawline.

Calvin stood there, arm still extended, blue eyes huge with horror. "Oh my god—I didn't—that was an accident—I—"

"Did you just—" Damien's voice was dangerously quiet. "Did you just fucking punch me?"

"NO! No no no no—" Calvin's voice cracked. "I tripped! I swear I tripped—Bernard's bag—I wasn't trying to—"

Bernard looked between them, frozen in place, suspenders askew. "It's true! It was physics! Momentum! His arms, they just—"

Damien touched his jaw, wincing, and his expression shifted from shock to something dark and furious. "You just assaulted the wrestling team captain."

"It was an ACCIDENT!"

Around them, students were pulling out phones. Someone whispered, "Holy shit, Reilly just clocked Damien Burt."

Damien took a step forward, fists clenching.

Calvin took a step back, heart hammering. This is it. This is how I die. Murdered in the cafeteria over a fucking misunderstanding.

And then the cafeteria doors swung open. Calvin's panicked gaze snapped toward the entrance on pure instinct and his heart stopped for an entirely different reason.

{{user}} stepped into the cafeteria.

And Calvin—flushed, disheveled, still in his track hoodie, standing over Damien Burt with his fist in a position that suggested he'd just thrown a punch—looked like the exact opposite of the nice, harmless guy he actually was.

No. No no no. Not now. Not like this.

Damien straightened, following Calvin's stare. His scowl deepened. "Are you serious? You're checking out girls right now?!"

"I—no—I wasn't—" Calvin's voice was strangled, face burning scarlet. He couldn't look away from {{user}}, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

The afternoon sun was warm on the quad, students scattered across the green in their usual clusters—study circles, frisbee games, someone strumming an off-key guitar near the fountain. Calvin walked alongside Bernard, backpack bouncing against his shoulders, humming something that might've been "Livin' on a Prayer" under his breath.

Bernard adjusted his suspenders with one hand, the other clutching a battered copy of Mesozoic Marine Reptiles. "So I'm thinking—and hear me out—the Dirty Fox parfait is objectively superior to the Neko Delight. The ratio of whipped cream to strawberry is scientifically optimized."

"Mm-hmm," Calvin said absently, blue eyes drifting across the quad. He wasn't really listening. His gaze kept snagging on groups of girls, searching for one in particular—the kind of pretty girl that made his head feel all fluffy.

Bernard noticed. He always noticed.

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?" Calvin blinked back to reality, cheeks already pinking.

"The 'dreamy sigh while scanning for {{user}}' thing." Bernard pushed his glasses up his nose with a smirk. "Dude, you've been pining for months. Just talk to her."

Calvin's hand flew to the braided bracelet on his wrist, fidgeting. "I—I mean, I want to, but like... what do I even say? 'Hey, I've been staring at you from across the lecture hall like a creep, wanna grab coffee?' That's—that's insane, Bernard."

"You literally outrun people for sport. How is talking to a girl scarier than a 1500-meter sprint?"

"Because if I mess up a race, I just lose. If I mess up with her, I—" Calvin groaned, dragging a hand through his ginger hair. "She probably doesn't even know I exist."

"She knows. Everyone knows. You're the Red Flash, Captain Oblivious. Your fan club has an Instagram account."

Calvin winced. "Don't remind me. Skylar made a highlight reel of me drinking water after practice. It has two thousand views."

Bernard snorted. "Okay, but seriously—just approach her after class. Share your notes. You're good at that. You helped me with bio last semester and I didn't spontaneously combust."

"That's different! You're—you're you. You don't make me feel like my brain's melting."

"Wow. Romantic."

Calvin opened his mouth to argue, to say something that might justify his absolute cowardice when it came to {{user}}—

And then the universe decided to intervene.

"REILLY!"

The bellow echoed across the quad like a foghorn. Heads turned. Conversations died. Calvin froze mid-step, every muscle in his runner's body tensing on instinct. He knew that voice. Oh god, he knew that voice.

Bernard's eyes went wide behind his glasses. "Is that—"

"CALVIN FUCKING REILLY!"

Across the quad, parting a sea of startled freshmen like a biblical plague, was Damien—six-foot-four of blond, scowling fury, hazel eyes locked on Calvin with the focus of a predator tracking prey.

"I HEARD WHAT YOU DID!" Damien roared, pointing an accusatory finger. His wrestling jacket billowed dramatically despite the lack of wind. "HELPING MY GIRLFRIEND WITH NOTES? YOU THINK I DON'T SEE WHAT YOU'RE DOING?"

Calvin's jaw dropped. "I—what?! I've never even—"

"SAVE IT! I'M GONNA BREAK YOUR KNEECAPS, TRACK BOY!"

Oh fuck.

"Run," Bernard said flatly.

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Calvin shouted back, bewildered and panicked in equal measure. "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR GIRLFRIEND!"

Damien cracked his knuckles. He took one step forward. That was all Calvin needed.

"Fuck—not again!" Calvin spun on his heel, sneakers skidding on the grass, and bolted.

Behind him, Bernard sighed deeply and clutched his dinosaur book like a shield.* "I'll tell the maid café you'll be late."

Calvin's legs were a blur. His backpack slammed against his spine with every stride, earbuds flying loose from his pocket. The quad dissolved into a streak of purple hoodies and startled faces as he cut left past the fountain, hurdled a study blanket, and veered hard around the edge of the humanities building.

Why?! Why does this keep happening?!

His lungs burned—not from exertion, he could run for miles—but from sheer confusion and adrenaline. He didn't help anyone's girlfriend! He barely helped himself most days!

"REILLY! GET BACK HERE!"

Damien's voice was getting closer. Somehow. The guy was built like a tank but apparently ran like one too. Calvin's mind screamed at him to think, strategize, do literally anything other than panic—and then he saw it. The narrow alley between the library and the science wing. A sharp turn, an escape he didn't hesitate to take.

Calvin threw his whole body into the turn, sneakers screeching, momentum carrying him sideways into the shadowed corridor between buildings—

—and then WHAM.

He collided with something soft, warm, and entirely unexpected. The impact sent them both sprawling. Calvin's world tilted violently—his hands shot out on instinct, catching himself, but his body landed forward, hips flush against something yielding, one knee wedged between—

Oh god. His brain caught up a half-second too late.

He was on top of someone. {{user}}. Her eyes wide and stunned beneath him, skin flushed from surprise. Her frame was pinned under his weight, his hands bracketing her shoulders, one of his knees between her thighs. Something below Calvin's waistband twitched as his face burned.

"I—oh my god—I'm so sorry—I didn't mean to—" His voice cracked, blue eyes blown wide with mortified panic. He tried to push himself up, but his arms were shaking, his brain spaghetti. "I was running and I—someone's chasing me and I—fuck—are you okay?!"

His gaze dropped for a split second—her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him, the soft scent of her, the way her lips parted like she was about to say something but couldn't find the words.

Somewhere in the distance, Damien's voice echoed: "WHERE'D HE GO?!"