Chapter Text
*BEEP*
*BEEP*
*BE-*
The sound of the alarm clock was abruptly cut off by Dante slamming his hand down on the old clock.
5:05 AM.
Usually, waking up this early felt like dragging himself out of a grave, but not today. Today, the adrenaline was already humming under his skin. Dante swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold hardwood, and stood up to stretch. Every muscle in his body felt primed, tightly coiled like a spring.
It was Friday. Game day.
He walked over to his mirror and flicked on the dim desk lamp. The reflection staring back at him was exactly what the rest of the school expected to see: the starting varsity quarterback, completely in his element. Tonight was the season opener against their biggest rivals, West High, and the whole town was going to be in the bleachers. The scouts would be there, too.
Dante pulled on his gray heather workout hoodie, laced up his running shoes, and grabbed his water bottle. He had a three-mile loop to crush before the rest of the world even opened their eyes.
By 7:30 AM, the high school parking lot was already a zoo.
Dante rolled in with his windows down, the bass from his stereo vibrating through the steering wheel. He barely had his truck in park before Marcus and Ethan, two of his offensive linemen, slammed their hands against the hood in greeting.
"There he is!" Marcus yelled, grinning as Dante climbed out of the cab. "You ready to drop forty points on these chumps tonight, Santos?"
"Always," Dante smiled, throwing up a hand to high-five them.
Walking down the hallways felt like a victory lap before the game had even started. People he barely knew were nodding at him; teachers were giving him lenient warnings to get his homework in by Monday; and the spirit banners with his jersey number, #10, were taped to almost every locker. He felt invincible. He had the grades, the popularity, and the starting spot he had bled for all summer. This was going to be his year, and nothing could touch him.
The first-period bell rang, throwing the hallways into the usual chaotic rush. Dante was laughing at a joke Ethan made when he had to swerve sharply to avoid colliding with someone near the water fountains.
Books scattered across the linoleum floor.
"Watch where you're going," Marcus grunted, barely pausing as he kept walking.
Dante stopped and looked down. The guy kneeling on the floor, frantically gathering loose papers and a battered textbook, was Jacks Hollow.
Jacks looked completely exhausted. His oversized flannel shirt practically swallowed his slight frame, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. He didn't look up, his hands shaking slightly as he shoved the papers back into a worn backpack. He looked like he was trying to turn invisible right there on the floor.
"Hey, sorry about that," Dante said, stepping back and reaching down to pick up a stray pen that had rolled near his sneaker. He held it out. "You alright?"
Jacks flinched slightly at the voice, finally glancing up. For a split second, their eyes met; Jacks’ eyes were filled with a mixture of raw stress and something else Dante couldn't quite pinpoint. Jacks snatched the pen from Dante's hand, shoving it into his bag without a word. He pulled his hood lower over his face, scrambled to his feet, and vanished into the crowd of students before Dante could even offer a hand up.
Dante stared at the space where Jacks had just been, feeling a strange, fleeting tightening in his chest. He knew of Jacks, the quiet kid who sat in the back of AP Lit, always looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, drowning in rumors about bad grades and an even worse home life.
"Dante! Come on, man, we're gonna be late for film study!" Marcus called out from down the hall.
Dante shook the weird feeling off, turning away from the crowd. "Yeah, coming," he called back, forcing the easy smile back onto his face. He had a game to win, and he couldn't let anything distract him from that tonight.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of pre-game rallies, adrenaline, and tactical walkthroughs, culminating in a spectacular 42-14 victory over West High. By the time the stadium lights finally shut down, the celebration shifted straight to Marcus's house for the biggest party of the school year. His parents were out of town for the week, leaving the house completely open, which served as the perfect excuse to celebrate.
By 11:30 PM, Marcus’s house was a chaotic, blurring roar. The high from the win had carried Dante through the front doors on a wave of cheers, but as the hours bled together, that initial rush morphed into something heavier. Every time his cup was empty, someone filled it. Marcus kept shouting about his four touchdown passes. The scouts had been impressed, his dad was proud, and the whole school was bowing down.
He was supposed to feel invincible. Instead, the heat of the packed living room and the relentless, pounding bass were starting to make his head spin. He was buzzed, honestly past buzzed, and the room was tilting just enough to make him feel disconnected from his own skin.
Needing to escape the suffocating air, Dante stumbled his way through the kitchen and pushed past the screen door into the backyard. The cool autumn air hit him like a physical slap, making his vision swim for a second. He took a heavy breath, gripping the porch railing to steady himself, and looked out across the lawn.
That’s when he saw her.
Through the dim light, the short, messy strands of hair falling over the figure’s face looked soft, pale, and golden. The slight frame looked delicate. Dante blinked, a slow, goofy smile spreading across his face. He loved seeing this pretty blonde girl sitting alone in the dark, her hair beautifully messed up from the party, looking for an escape just like he was.
"Hey," Dante slurred, his voice thick as he drifted across the grass, his balance entirely shot. He dropped down onto the canoe right next to the figure, completely oblivious. "You're... you're really pretty. What are you doing out here all by yourself?"
The girl was far too wasted to correct him, turning a glassy, unfocused gaze toward him. Pulled in by the mutual, drunken haze, they stumbled together into the deep shadows of the woods, completely hidden from the house.