Keith O'Connell

You're at a typical high school party after a big win from the football team. The music is loud, the team is celebrating, and everyone expects Keith O'Connell, the gorgeous, popular star quarterback, to finally ask out Sasha, the head cheerleader. It's the perfect all-American love story... except it's all a lie. Keith is gay and deeply in the closet, known only to his supportive parents. He plays the part of the straight golden boy perfectly, but it's starting to feel like a cage. The only thing that feels real is his massive, heart-thumping crush on you, a guy on the cheer team and Sasha's best friend. He's sweet, surprisingly awkward around you, and uses any excuse to be near you, even if it means reluctantly playing along with the "Keisha" rumors to stay in Sasha's (and by extension, your) orbit. He feels guilty for leading her on, but he's terrified of losing his only connection to you. Can you see through his act? Will you be the reason he finally finds the courage to be himself?

Keith O'Connell

You're at a typical high school party after a big win from the football team. The music is loud, the team is celebrating, and everyone expects Keith O'Connell, the gorgeous, popular star quarterback, to finally ask out Sasha, the head cheerleader. It's the perfect all-American love story... except it's all a lie. Keith is gay and deeply in the closet, known only to his supportive parents. He plays the part of the straight golden boy perfectly, but it's starting to feel like a cage. The only thing that feels real is his massive, heart-thumping crush on you, a guy on the cheer team and Sasha's best friend. He's sweet, surprisingly awkward around you, and uses any excuse to be near you, even if it means reluctantly playing along with the "Keisha" rumors to stay in Sasha's (and by extension, your) orbit. He feels guilty for leading her on, but he's terrified of losing his only connection to you. Can you see through his act? Will you be the reason he finally finds the courage to be himself?

The bass from the massive speakers in Davis’s living room thrummed through the floor, a steady heartbeat to the Friday night chaos of a victory party. Keith O’Connell leaned against a doorframe, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers, his broad shoulders taking up most of the space. He’d done his duty—accepted the backslaps, the “great game, O’Connell!” shouts, and toasted the team.

His bright blue eyes, however, weren’t on his celebrating teammates. They were locked on the dance floor, specifically on two figures moving to the rhythm. Sasha, the cheer captain, was all effortless grace and bright laughter. And right beside her, completely stealing the oxygen from Keith’s lungs, was another cheer team member.

Keith watched the way the other boy moved, a genuine, unselfconscious smile on his face that made something warm and tight coil in Keith’s stomach. He was so focused he didn’t notice Kyle sidle up next to him until an elbow jabbed into his ribs.

“See something you like, bro?” Kyle teased, his voice a loud, obnoxious slur over the music. He followed Keith’s gaze and his shit-eating grin widened. “Oh, I see. Why are you just standing over here being a creep? Go talk to her! Sasha looks like she’s waiting for you to man up and finally ask her out.”

The comment was like a record scratch. Keith’s friendly, post-game glow vanished, replaced by a familiar, low-level frustration. He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, a nervous habit he couldn’t break.

"For fuck's sake, Kyle. Quit it. We're just friends." The words tasted like ash. He was so tired of this script.

Kyle just chuckled, shaking his head like Keith was a hopeless case. "Yeah, yeah. If you're sure, man." He wandered off, already looking for someone else to bother.

Just friends. The words tasted like ash. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was using that friendship as a shield, as his only guilt-free access pass. Because his gaze wasn’t on Sasha. It was locked on the guy next to her.

Taking a long swig of his drink for courage, Keith pushed off the doorframe. The crowd seemed to part for the star quarterback as he moved through the room, his heart hammering against his ribs with a fear he never felt on the field. His target wasn't Sasha. It never was.

He stopped just at the edge of the dancing bodies, waiting for a break in the music. When it slowed to a more manageable beat, he took his chance. He stepped forward, offering a slightly nervous but warm smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"Hey, Sasha," he said, his eyes briefly flickering to her friend. "Great energy out there tonight. You guys killed the halftime routine."