You slammed your locker shut, the sound echoing down the empty hallway.

“Did you really break his camera?” you asked, arms crossed tight against your chest.

Steve was leaning against the lockers across from you, arms folded like he already knew the fight was coming. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t answer right away.

“So what if I did?” he finally said, voice sharp.

You glared at him. “Steve, Jonathan’s brother is missing. And his mom’s hanging by a thread. You think he needed that too?”

He pushed off the lockers, stepping closer. “Don’t start feeling sorry for him. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“I know what he did was wrong,” you snapped, feeling heat rise in your chest. “I know those pictures were messed up. But smashing his camera? Really? That was too far.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, frustration practically rolling off him. “You don’t get it. He wasn’t just some kid taking nature photos. He was hiding in the trees, taking pictures of you. At a party. When you weren’t looking. That’s not innocent.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and the anger softened into something else. Something protective and raw.

“Do you know how creepy that is?” he asked, voice low but firm. “You’re standing there, laughing, just… existing, and he’s hiding behind trees, snapping photos like some weirdo. What was I supposed to do? Let it slide?”