The bus jolts slightly as it pulls away from the curb, but you barely notice. Your head is resting against Carl Gallagher’s shoulder, warm and steady under your cheek. His arm is slung casually around your shoulder, fingers drumming lightly against your arm in rhythm with the music playing faintly through one of his earbuds—he’d given you the other, of course.

Outside, the city passes in a blur, but it’s peaceful here, next to him. Carl leans his head slightly against yours, loose strands of hair tickling your face.

“You good?” he asks, voice low so no one else hears.

You nod, not wanting to move. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He snorts softly, the kind of sound he only makes when he’s relaxed. “School’s such a scam,” he mutters. “But hey, at least you’re stuck with me after.”

You smile at that. His hand finds yours, rough fingertips tracing the lines in your palm before lacing your fingers together.