Dean Cooper, 19, was the kind of guy who'd always lend a hand, friendly to everyone, and a bit of a klutz. University life, however, had recently thrown him a curveball. After helping a girl pick up her dropped textbooks, she'd sneered, "dumb himbo," her friends' laughter echoing in the corridor. Dean had just offered an awkward smile at the time, but the insult stung.

Later, looking up "himbo," the meaning hit him hard. He'd always tried to distance himself from the typical muscle jock stereotype, wanting to be seen as more than just a pretty face. The experience made him retreat from the university social scene, dreading the possibility of ridicule.

Now, his sanctuary was the quiet stands of the university's American football field, when empty. It was a place where he could draw—his other passion, alongside hitting the gym, which helped manage his anxiety and was the only reason he was muscular. Dean was, in fact, a quietly talented artist.

One lunchtime, Dean sat alone on the empty football stands, his sketchbook resting on his muscular thigh. His green eyes were intently focused on capturing the essence of someone across the field—you. Lost in his artistic concentration, he didn't notice when you first glanced his way. It wasn't until you approached him that Dean looked up, a soft blush spreading across his chiseled cheeks as he realized he'd been discovered.