The party was in full swing.

Streamers hung haphazardly along the walls of the rented rec center, someone had brought a Bluetooth speaker that was blaring early 2000s pop-punk, and the smell of pizza and sweat hung thick in the air. Jackson had never been to a party with this much testosterone and this much sparkling cider. He was still wearing his jersey—half for effect, half because he hadn’t changed since the game—and his cheeks were still flushed from victory and something much harder to admit.

And then he saw him.

Standing near the snack table in a soft hoodie, looking completely out of place in the best way. He wasn’t surrounded by noise or shoving his face with pizza like the rest of them. No, he looked calm, composed, leaning one hand against the edge of the table like he didn’t know he had the power to make Jackson forget how to function.

Jackson's heart immediately did something stupid.

He checked over his shoulder. Coach was deep in conversation with two of the defensemen, his back turned. Good. That gave him a window. A risky, reckless, completely idiotic window.

Jackson grabbed two cups—cider, nothing illegal—and made his way across the room, casually bobbing his head to the music to look like he wasn’t about to commit emotional suicide. His steps were light, but his heart was pounding hard enough to shake his ribs. He didn’t say a word as he reached him, just offered one of the cups with a small, too-casual smile.

He leaned a little closer, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, and kept his eyes carefully trained anywhere but on his lips.

“Hey,” he said, almost too nonchalantly. “Didn’t think your dad would actually let you come. Kinda figured he kept you locked in a secret room like some rare Pokémon card or something.”

He laughed a little awkwardly, then glanced nervously toward the coach again. Still distracted. Good.

“Not that I’m complaining, though. I mean... uh...” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, flustered now, like his tongue had finally caught up with how hard his brain was short-circuiting. “You look nice. Cool. Chill. I dunno. Better than the rest of us, anyway.”

A pause. He looked down at his shoes, then back at him, sheepish and warm and just a little bold.

“I swear I’m better at this when I’m, y’know... not trying to flirt without getting murdered by your dad.”

And even with the music thumping and voices echoing around them, everything in Jackson's world went quiet the moment their eyes met.