It started with a smell. Not danger, not romance—just Larry’s obnoxiously persistent sports deodorant, clinging to the air like it paid rent. The kind that screamed "EXTREME FRESHNESS" while assaulting the senses like a lemon-scented punch to the face. I wrinkled my nose, trying to subtly waft it away as Larry buzzed around me like an overcaffeinated mosquito.

"Okay, okay, perfect!" Larry declared, stepping back to admire his handiwork. I was artfully—or so Larry claimed—draped across the couch. David's sleek gaming laptop, purring like a high-tech kitten with its rainbow backlight, rested on my lap. My long, red-auburn hair, usually wrangled into a messy bun for practice, was strategically loosened, a few strands falling across my forehead in what Larry called the "effortlessly hot gamer" look. I felt anything but. I felt like a pretzel. A very confused pretzel.

"Are you sure about this, Lar?" I mumbled, my fingers fumbling over the unfamiliar keyboard. Valorant. Larry had insisted on Valorant. "She was playing something with, like, guns and explosions, man! This is it!" Larry had proclaimed after a covert spy mission past your usual study spot in the library.

I squinted at the screen. My character, a woman with gravity-defying purple hair named Reyna (I'd picked her because her outfit looked vaguely like something Danai would approve of), was currently staring intently at a brick wall. I'd managed to get her there, at least. Progress.

"Dude, she's not gonna be looking at your screen," Larry said, rolling his eyes with the exasperated air of a seasoned Casanova. "She's gonna see you. The vibe. The intense concentration. The subtle flex of your forearm as you click." Larry mimed an intense click, nearly poking himself in the eye.

I sighed. "I still think The Sims would've been better. At least I know how to win at The Sims." Larry paused his enthusiastic gesticulations. "How do you win at The Sims?""Easy," I said, with a flicker of genuine confidence. "Danai taught me. You build a pool, make all your Sims swim, then delete the ladder. Last Sim floating wins."

Larry blinked. "Whoa. Hardcore. Your brother’s intense, man.""He got all the brains," I said with a shrug, a familiar pang of affection for Danai welling up. "I got the... well, I can spike a volleyball pretty good."

The plan, as harebrained as it felt, was for you to arrive for our shared project on... something about sociology? I had mostly nodded along while David explained it. You'd walk in, see me, the epitome of cool gamer dude, and instantly fall for my unexpected depth. Or something.

My stomach did a nervous flip. I really, really liked you. More than French songs liked. More than winning a championship game liked. You were just... everything. Smart(er than me), cute in a way that made my chest ache, and your smile could probably power the entire campus.

"Okay, she texted David she's five minutes out!" Larry hissed, grabbing his own bag. "Gotta jet! Watching the game at Mark's. Operation: Impress is a go! Don't screw this up, BB!" With a final, encouraging (and slightly painful) slap on my shoulder, Larry was gone, leaving me alone with Reyna, the brick wall, and my rapidly escalating panic.

I tried to make Reyna move. I pressed 'W'. She lurched forward, face-first into the wall with a dull thud. I tried 'S'. She moonwalked backward into another wall. Okay, this isn't like volleyball. Not intuitive. At all.

I could hear my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs, louder than the laptop's fan. Just look cool, Bobby. Look like you know what you're doing. I attempted a smolder, aiming it vaguely at the laptop screen, hoping it would somehow translate.

A gentle knock echoed through the room. *Showtime.* I took a deep breath, trying to arrange my features into an expression of casual intensity. "Come in!" I called out, my voice a little higher than intended.

The door opened, and there you were. My brain promptly short-circuited. All coherent thought evacuated, replaced by a loud, internal screaming sound not dissimilar to the one my character made when I accidentally made her jump off a ledge earlier.

On screen, Reyna, as if sensing her owner's utter mental collapse, began spinning in slow, aimless circles, her gun pointed vaguely at the ceiling. I mashed a few random keys in a desperate attempt to regain control. Reyna responded by firing a volley of shots into the tastefully painted virtual sky.

I plastered on what I hoped was a charming, confident grin. It felt more like a grimace fighting a losing battle with a muscle spasm. "I'm a gamer. Too," I declared, puffing my chest out slightly, trying to channel the swagger Larry had coached me on. The words felt like foreign objects in my mouth.

I had to salvage this. Think, Bobby, think! My eyes landed on you, and the pre-rehearsed lines evaporated like mist. "It's just that," I stammered, a blush creeping up my neck, "you're so beautiful today, I think my agent forgot which way is forward." I gestured vaguely at the still-spinning Reyna. "Kind of like my brain right now, actually." A nervous laugh escaped me. I cringed internally, waiting for the earth to swallow me whole. My brain was already whirring, though: Did that make sense? Was it smooth? Oh god, you're looking at me. Say something, please say something!