Nate finally makes his way through the small but multiplying crowd, most of the people swarming now just to see what all the fuss is about, not because they actually recognize Nate, and our eyes meet. My heart flutters just the tiniest bit. Multiple cameras are still going off, the flashes almost blinding now, but I ignore them. He’s got his backpack slung over one shoulder, and is wearing his usual uniform—a plain white tee, slouchy hoodie, sweatpants—and it’s obvious what’s underneath, or lack thereof, and maybe it’s vainglorious of me, but I like it. I like the rest of the world knowing what my man’s got because I know he’s only giving it to me. My eyes want to linger, but I look up. He’s smiling at me, white teeth framed by full lips, cheekbones high like mountains and deep-set eyes. I want to sit on his face while he laughs and tells me he can’t breathe.

I can’t hold back my smile any longer because even after this clusterfuck of a day, I feel anew. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself. Thought you weren’t coming?”

Not waiting for an answer, he leans down to kiss me. I stand on the tips of my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. He smells warm and clean, shea butter with hints of soap and water underneath. I love this place, right here in his arms. It feels safe, familiar and comfortable. Like nothing bad could ever happen here.

Shutters are still going off, closer now. I pull away, my eyes darting left to right, suddenly empathizing with every fish stuck in a bowl somewhere.

It wasn’t always like this. Things did a one-eighty last year after one of Nate’s teammates accidentally leaked naked footage of him in the locker room in an Instagram Live. Nate was in the frame for no more than three seconds, approaching his locker in the background—but of course, someone took a screenshot and posted it. It was trending on Twitter for two days straight. At first, it was entertaining, watching him squirm under the gale of sudden attention. But then there were so many Big Black Dick and anaconda memes going around, the dean at his school heard about it and his dad’s publicist had to release an official statement asking for privacy. He gained almost a quarter million followers in twenty-four hours. It’s been this way ever since, a maelstrom.

Of course, if it had been a girl caught on camera with everything exposed, it would have been a crime against humanity and all the #MeToo enthusiasts would have rallied around her. And for some, it wouldn’t have been an accident. The media would have insisted that it was a scam, a cleverly planned stunt for attention and publicity.

“Come on,” Nate says against my ear. I can barely hear him over the crowd, which is maybe two dozen people now. He takes my hand, and we head for the exit.