"You're insufferable."
"Maybe," he says softly, "but you still can't keep your eyes off me."
"Maybe I don't want to."
♥___________♥
𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢
Playboy, arrogant, and egoistic-sounds like a typical jerk, right? But there's more to Marco th...
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I sat there on the bleachers, stunned. The words Marco had just said were still echoing in my head, like a broken record I couldn't turn off.
"I like you."
I couldn't believe it. Marco—the guy who somehow wormed his way into my life and made things less lonely—had just said he liked me. And the worst part was, I didn't know how to respond. My mind went blank, my throat closed up, and all I could do was stare at him.
I had never been good at this kind of stuff—feelings, emotions, whatever you wanted to call it. But I knew one thing: I liked him too. I had for a while. The way he laughed at my jokes, the way he actually listened when I talked about books or games or the stupid little things that most people didn't care about. I had started looking forward to hanging out with him, even when it was with his group of friends who barely acknowledged my existence.
But now, with him standing in front of me, confessing something so personal, I froze. It was like my body and brain weren't on the same page, and by the time I even started processing what he said, he was already walking away.
"Marco—" I wanted to call out, but the words caught in my throat. He kept walking, leaving me behind with a thousand things unsaid.
What the hell was wrong with me? Why didn't I say anything? Why didn't I stop him?
I stayed there, sitting on the bleachers like an idiot, replaying the moment over and over in my head. He liked me. And I liked him. So why didn't I just tell him?
What was I so scared of?
Was it the thought of saying it out loud? Admitting that I liked Marco felt like admitting something bigger—like admitting I was gay. And that scared the hell out of me. Even now, just thinking the words made my chest tighten. It wasn't like I didn't know. I'd known for a long time, but the idea of saying it to someone else, of owning that part of myself, was terrifying. What would people say? What would my parents think? What if everything changed?
I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees, head hung low. I felt like I was drowning, and there was no way up. But then there was Marco. He was brave enough to put himself out there, to tell me how he felt, and I just sat there, saying nothing, doing nothing.
"I'm such an idiot," I muttered to myself, shaking my head.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, staring at the screen. My fingers hovered over Marco's contact. Should I text him? Apologize? Explain why I didn't say anything? Maybe it wasn't too late to fix this. Maybe if I told him the truth, things wouldn't be so messed up between us. He deserved to know that I felt the same way.
But just as I started to type out a message, a notification popped up. My heart sank. It was another message from the group chat. I hesitated, then tapped on the notification.
A video.
The thumbnail showed Marco, laughing with Jake and Mark. My stomach tightened. Something wasn't right. With a growing sense of dread, I clicked on it.
