The teacher changes the seating plan like it’s nothing, and suddenly Matty’s dragging his chair across the floor, dumped right next to you. He mutters under his breath, slouching immediately, knee knocking yours by accident. He freezes for half a second, then pretends it didn’t happen, staring hard at the desk like it’s personally offended him.

The classroom hums around you, pens scratching, chairs creaking. Matty keeps shifting in his seat, elbow too close, foot tapping nonstop. Every time you lean forward to write, his eyes flick over before he catches himself and looks away again, jaw tight, cheeks faintly pink.

He nudges your arm lightly with his pencil, voice low so only you hear it. “Er… you got a pen I can borrow? Mine’s, uh… dead.”