"It is intense. That’s the point." Caden leaned in conspiratorially. "Romance is intense. It’s supposed to be. If it’s comfortable and easy and feels exactly like every other interaction you have, you’re doing it wrong."

I watched Percy process this information, his analytical mind clearly trying to convert Caden’s emotional advice into something he could measure and track. It wasn’t working. Some things couldn’t be quantified, and the look on his face suggested he was just now realizing this in a way that genuinely terrified him.

"What if I do it wrong?" he asked quietly. "What if I look into her eyes and she doesn’t look back? What if she thinks I’m being strange? What if I misread the signals and there aren’t any signals and I’m just projecting patterns onto random social noise because I want there to be something?"

The vulnerability in his voice was unexpected. Percy Mendoza documented everything because documentation gave him control over a world that otherwise felt chaotic and unpredictable. His notebooks weren’t just research. They were armor. And asking Rina out meant putting that armor down and standing there exposed, waiting to see if she’d accept him or turn away.

I knew that feeling. I’d felt it with Sloane, back before everything changed. I’d felt it with Felicity in the theater, when she’d asked if they could still be friends after what happened. The terror of wanting something you couldn’t control, of putting yourself in someone else’s hands and hoping they’d hold you gently.

"You won’t know unless you try," I said, and the words came out softer than I intended. "That’s the whole deal. You can document every variable, measure every signal, build the most comprehensive model in history, and at the end of all that analysis, you still have to actually do it. The numbers don’t do it for you."

Percy was quiet for a moment. His pen was back in his hand, but he wasn’t tapping anymore. Just holding it, turning it over between his fingers.

"Rina’s kind," he said finally. "She’s patient. She doesn’t make me feel strange for being the way I am. Most people look at me like I’m an inconvenience when I share data they didn’t ask for, but she actually listens. She asks follow-up questions." His voice cracked slightly on the last word. "She asks follow-up questions."

Caden and I exchanged a look. The kind of look that said we both understood something Percy hadn’t quite figured out yet.

"That’s not nothing," Caden said, and his voice had lost some of its manic energy. "That’s actually kind of everything."

"I know." Percy stared at his pen. "That’s why it’s terrifying. Because if I say something and she doesn’t feel the same way, I lose the conversations. I lose the follow-up questions. I lose the thing that makes being here actually bearable."

The locker room had gotten quiet around us. Most of the other guys had finished changing and filtered out, leaving just the three of us on this bench, having a conversation that had gotten considerably heavier than anyone had planned for.

"Or," I said, "you say something and she does feel the same way. And instead of losing the conversations, you get more of them. Better ones. Conversations where you can actually tell her why her laugh matters to you instead of just documenting the frequency."

Percy looked up at me. His eyes were slightly red around the edges, which I pretended not to notice.

"You really think she might—"

"I think she sits next to you every chance she gets. I think she defends you when Caden makes jokes about your notebooks. I think she looked at you during Steele’s announcement about the Crucible like she was checking to see if you were okay before she processed anything else." I shrugged. "I’m not saying it’s a guarantee. But the signals aren’t nothing, Percy. They’re something."

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he opened his notebook and wrote something down.

"What’s that?" Caden asked.

"A hypothesis." Percy’s pen moved across the page with its usual precision, but there was something different in his posture now. Less defensive. More determined. "If I’m going to approach this properly, I need to treat it like any other investigation. Establish parameters. Document observations. Test conclusions."

"That’s... not quite what we meant about being romantic," Caden said.

"It’s how I work." Percy closed the notebook and tucked it into his bag with a finality that suggested the decision had been made. "I’ll gather additional data over the next week. Create opportunities for increased interaction. Monitor for reciprocal interest indicators."

"So basically you’re going to science your way into asking her out."

"Yes." Percy stood, shouldering his bag. "That is an accurate summary of my intended approach."

Caden looked at me. I looked at Caden.

"You know what?" Caden said. "That’s weirdly adorable and I respect it."

Percy’s blush made a brief return appearance. "I should go. I have analysis to conduct."

He was halfway to the door before he stopped, turning back to look at us with an expression that was harder to read than usual.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Both of you. For not making this feel like something to be ashamed of."

Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click.

Caden exhaled loudly, slumping back against the locker. "Well. That was unexpectedly emotional."

"Yeah." I grabbed my bag, checking my phone out of habit. Nothing from Sloane. Nothing from Felicity. "You really going to coach him through this?"

"Obviously." Caden’s grin returned, though it was softer than before. "Operation Get Percy To Ask Out Rina is officially in progress. I’m committed now. There’s no backing out."

"You just wanted an excuse to call yourself a professor."

"That’s... not entirely inaccurate." He stretched, joints popping audibly. "But also, the guy deserves something good. He’s been taking notes on the world for so long he forgot he’s allowed to participate in it. Someone needed to remind him."

I thought about Percy’s face when he talked about Rina’s follow-up questions. The way his voice had cracked on the words. The vulnerability underneath all that analytical armor.

"Yeah," I said. "Someone did."