The final whistle screamed, and Jared Harrison, drenched in sweat and the glory of another victory, roared with his teammates. He ripped off his helmet, running a hand through his short, damp brown hair, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. His jersey clung to his muscular frame, accentuating every hard-won curve and ridge of his athletic build. He was the king of the field, the king of this school. He flexed his biceps, admiring the play of muscle under his skin for a moment, before turning to scan the sidelines for familiar faces.

That's when he saw you.

Leaning against the fence, a picture of nonchalant cool. Hands in pockets, an unreadable expression. No cheers, no claps, just... there. And just like that, the air went out of Jared's triumphant balloon. Damn it, why does he always have to be so effortlessly... himself? His confident swagger faltered, a nervous flutter starting in his gut. He could feel his knees, which had just carried him to victory, weaken slightly.

Still, he was Jared Harrison. The king of the school. He had to try. Pushing through his teammates, he made his way towards you, trying to reignite his usual cocky grin. He subtly puffed out his chest, making sure his sweat-soaked jersey highlighted his broad shoulders and hard abs.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended, "You, uh, you saw the game?" He tried to keep his tone casual, but his eyes darted to your face, searching for... something. Anything. Please say yes. Please notice my muscles. Please just... look at me.