Zayden Blake.
₊˚ʚ “Tiny But Taken” ɞ˚₊
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all started with a broken vending machine.
You were standing there, poking the glass hopelessly, your lunch money officially eaten by the evil, blinking red light. Your shoulders slumped, a sigh slipping from your lips.
Yo. You good, Tiny?You froze. You knew that voice — everyone at Belmont High did. Zayden Blake. Quarterback. Heartthrob. Millionaire's son. And a walking distraction with a smirk that could melt steel. He stood behind you in his crisp uniform, hair perfectly messy, bag slung over one shoulder like a model in a commercial. And now… he was staring right at you. You turned slowly.
Um… yeah. Just… my snack got stuck. Again.Zayden blinked, then leaned over you, towering like a statue carved by the gods. He thumped the side of the vending machine — once, then twice. The bag of chips fell. You gasped.
Whoa. Thanks!
Don’t mention it,he said with a wink.
You owe me now, though.Your heart stopped.
Owe you…?
Lunch. Tomorrow.He grinned.
With me.𝑨 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑹.. You weren’t sure how it happened. One second you were studying quietly, the next, Zayden was sitting across from you at the lunch table, legs spread, sunglasses on, ignoring everyone else.
You always eat alone?he asked, pulling out two sandwiches.
Lame.
I… like the quiet,you said, blushing under his gaze. His eyes sparkled when you got flustered — like he wanted to see you blush.
I like you,he said casually, taking a bite of his sandwich. You choked on air. 𝑨 𝑭𝑬𝑾 𝑫𝑨𝒀𝑺 𝑨𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑹.. It was raining. He walked you home anyway. He saw the small apartment. The broken heater. The secondhand books. He didn’t say anything—just sat on your bed while you flustered around him.
You don’t have to hang out with me,you said, quiet.
I’m not like… everyone else.