Kaiden – Terrified and Looking Forward to It

I knew I liked boys when I was fourteen.

That was around the age when some guys in my class started obsessing over girls. Breasts. Waists. How their bodies were changing. None of it did anything for me.

At first, I didn’t fully realise what was happening. I kept looking at certain boys longer than necessary.

I liked athletic bodies most. Something close to myself without it becoming weirdly narcissistic.

By sixteen, my hormones had properly kicked in, and I’d started secretly buying magazines whenever we moved somewhere new enough that nobody recognised me yet.

I kept all of it to myself. Definitely from my dad. He would see it as some kind of malfunction. Something to overcome through discipline and structure. Telling friends was out of the question, too.

Hard to build meaningful friendships when you spend half your life being “the new kid.”

I really didn’t need another label attached to me on top of that.

The moment I knew for absolute certain that I was gay was the first time I saw Nathaniel Chase.

I didn’t even know his name yet.

Just a platinum-haired boy standing inside a convenience store, arguing with a sports magazine as it had personally betrayed him.

He aggressively flipped through the pages while muttering insults under his breath. Mocking sounds escaped him every few seconds.

“If you read it, you buy it,” the cashier called from behind the counter.

Nathaniel looked up immediately.

“Like I’m spending money on false facts, cheap advertising, and clearly photoshopped centerfolds.”

Then he shoved the magazine back onto the rack with visible disappointment. “Every month it’s the same with you!” the cashier yelled after him.

Nathaniel already had his hands in his pockets, walking toward the exit. “Then maybe get used to it, Clara,” he said casually over his shoulder.

Then his eyes shifted somewhere behind her.

“Also maybe focus less on me and more on Jimmy stealing gum over there.”

The cashier snapped around instantly. A twelve-year-old near the candy aisle froze in horror.

Nathaniel used the chaos he created to leave the store completely unbothered. And I just stood there staring after him, thinking:

Who argues with a magazine?

The hardest part is seeing him all the time. At the football club, it’s the worst.

Nathaniel in full gear, looking all dangerous, running across the field like it personally owes him taxes.

Every movement sharp. Controlled. Arrogant.

I have to actively look away whenever changing clothes becomes optional, and he pulls his shirt over his head.

Markus, Jay, and Leo instantly follow like they’re part of some weird shirtless football cult.

Even Gemma joins in sometimes, tossing her training shirt aside and continuing in just her sports bra until one of the guys inevitably complains about it.

“If some bouncing tits distract you from playing,” Gemma snaps immediately, “then sit on the fucking bench and drool.”

That usually shuts them up.

Our coach mostly just sighs heavily like he’s spiritually exhausted by all of us. After training or matches, the group always hangs around the parking lot for a while. Somehow, I get dragged into it too.

We lean against Markus’ old fixer-upper car while drinking soda straight from cans, talking shit and laughing loud enough to bother nearby parents.

The only person not really participating is Nathaniel.

He’s standing right in the middle of the noise, completely zoned out, typing on his phone with intense focus.

“Texting girls back?” I ask casually. Half teasing. Half trying to figure out if I should emotionally prepare for disappointment. Nathaniel doesn’t even look up.

“Post-output constructive feedback,” he says flatly, as that sentence explains anything literally.

Everyone else groans immediately. Jay throws his head back dramatically. “Oh my God, not the football diary again.” Markus points at Nathaniel with his soda can. “It’s the kind of diary you absolutely never want mentioned at your funeral.”

The others laugh. I don’t.

Because apparently I’m still trying to understand Nathaniel’s answer.

“So…” I say slowly, “not girls?”

That finally gets his attention. Nathaniel glances up from his phone. “No,” he says simply. “About myself.”

That somehow hits me harder than if he’d admitted to texting ten girls at once. Because this means he does this every single time.

Every training. Every match. Every performance.

Standing in the middle of chaos while obsessively trying to become even better than he already is.

It should probably be concerning. Instead, I find it ridiculously attractive.

The more I see him, the more I can’t unsee.

Nathaniel standing smugly in my living room should’ve been absurd enough already.

The reason he was there barely even registered because the second Dalton started losing his mind over his new favourite human, I immediately opened the door and unleashed him.

At first, I was mostly entertained.

Nathaniel Chase parkouring over furniture while clutching a shopping bag to his chest and yelling warnings about chocolate poisoning was objectively hilarious. But then Lily quietly told me what he’d done for her on the bus.

And something shifted inside me after that. He helped a twelve-year-old girl through a complete crisis without turning it into a crisis himself.

Calmly. Practically. Without making her feel embarrassed. Honestly? I’m not even sure I could’ve handled it that well.

That realisation annoys me almost as much as I admire it.

Then Nathaniel noticed me looking at him. And immediately panicked.

Bolting from our house, as if Dalton had personally threatened legal action. Yeah.

I understood that feeling a little too well.

To make things worse, my stepmother insists on thanking him properly for helping Lily.

Apparently, showing up at the football club herself is “outside her social pay grade,” which means I’m responsible for inviting Nathaniel over for dinner.

Great.

So after training, when the rest of the group finally leaves, I force myself to stay behind.

Heavy legs. Heart pounding way too fast.

Nathaniel unlocks his bike while I awkwardly shove a hand through my hair, trying to act emotionally detached about this entire situation.

“So,” I start casually, “my parents wanted to thank you for helping Lily.”

Nathaniel barely looks up. “No need.”

I slowly walk over to my own bike. “They insisted.”

That finally gets his attention. Nathaniel grins immediately. “Or did you?”

My heartbeat spikes so violently that it honestly feels medically concerning.

“You wish,” I shoot back quickly, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “So are you coming or not?”

Nathaniel spins his bike keys around his finger while thinking it over. Then, completely seriously:

“What’s for dinner?” “I don’t know yet.” “That’s risky.” I narrow my eyes.

“You literally eat everything after training.”

Nathaniel raises one finger instantly. “False. I don’t eat takeout, meal mixes from carton boxes, easy-fix dinners, artificial sweeteners, excessive sugar, high sodium foods, factory-prepared meals, and absolutely no raisins in warm dishes.”

“…Raisins?” “They’re traitors.”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

Already imagining my stepmother’s face when I explain Nathaniel’s bizarre food standards.

“My stepmother is going to love this.” Nathaniel smiles wider. “She should.”

God, he’s such a dick. Still.

As I cycle home afterwards, all I can think about is Friday. Terrified.

Absolutely terrified.

And somehow still looking forward to it more than anything else that week.

❤️ Maliyka ❤️