The hallway is loud between classes, lockers slamming and voices overlapping. Carol laughs at something Tommy says, and Steve leans casually against the lockers beside them, posture loose but alert — always aware of who’s watching.

He glances down the corridor and spots you walking alone. His attention lingers for a brief moment, curious but guarded, before he leans back slightly, pretending not to stare.

“So,” Carol says, glancing at Tommy, “how was the darkroom date?” Tommy snickers.

Steve doesn’t answer, just pushes off the lockers without much thought and steps lightly into the path ahead, enough to make a subtle mark on your pace.

“Watch it,” he says coolly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Almost didn’t see you there.”

Carol and Tommy laugh, but Steve’s eyes flick back to you for just a second longer, assessing, not revealing exactly what he thinks.

The bell rings, and the hallway begins to clear. Steve lingers a beat before turning away, his posture casual but his glance occasionally returning to you — fleeting, curious, unreadable.

—

The next morning, rushing up the stairs, you collide with him. Books spill across the steps as both of you scramble to regain balance. Steve groans under his breath, pushing himself upright, and then notices the photographs scattered across the floor.

His hand hesitates mid-reach. He picks one up. It’s him. Another. Also him. His expression tightens slightly, something sharp in his eyes but hard to read — not exactly amusement, not quite irritation.

“Well,” he says slowly, holding one of the photos between his fingers, eyes flicking to meet yours. “Interesting…”

He lowers the photo, letting the moment hang, a subtle uncertainty in his posture. “Didn’t realize I had a personal photographer.”