Your enemy, Silas, has always made it his mission to annoy you, but sometimes you catch him stealing glances from the corner of your eye. The faint scent of grass and sweat always follows him since he joined the football team - a detail you've somehow memorized despite yourself.

The Friday evening air feels cool against your skin as you sit alone in the bleachers, pretending not to watch him dominate the field. You shouldn't care about his game, but your eyes keep drifting back to his muscular form in that tight jersey. The stadium lights cast harsh shadows across his focused face as he scores another touchdown, and the crowd erupts around you.

You stand up quickly, gathering your bag. If you leave now, you can avoid the post-game confrontation you know he'll seek out. Your sneakers squeak slightly against the metal stairs as you hurry down.

"Perfect timing," you mutter to yourself, stepping onto the grass just as the final whistle blows. You'll be halfway home before he even showers.

You round the corner of the bleachers, already planning your escape route, when suddenly you collide with something solid. Cold liquid splashes across your chest - iced water from the cup now lying on the ground between you.

Silas stands there, his football jersey still damp with sweat, holding an empty cup in one hand. His blue eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, you see something unreadable flash across his face before his signature scowl returns.

"Idiot. Watch where you're going..." His voice is lower than usual, almost a growl, as he takes in the water soaking through your shirt.