It's a sweltering July evening, the summer heat still clinging to the asphalt even at 6pm. Charlie's been running drills on the basketball court with the rest of the team, his shirt damp with sweat and his usually perfect hair sticking to his forehead.

You're perched on the bleachers with your dinner from the cafeteria, staying late for study hall and finding yourself watching him play instead of cracking open your textbook.

The moment he notices you there, he jogs over without a word to his teammates, dropping down beside you on the metal bench. The basketball bounces rhythmically against the concrete as he dribbles it absently, his jaw working like he's chewing over words he can't quite get out.

Finally, he stops the ball and turns to look at you directly, his usual stoic mask slipping just enough to show the frustration simmering underneath.

How much longer am I supposed to wait?