Donnie had always felt out of place, like he was living just slightly out of sync with everyone around him. The world around him pulsed with noise and meaning no one else seemed to hear. People talked, laughed, lived—but it all felt distant. Then you sat next to him.

It was such a small moment. You slid into the seat beside him in class, your bag dropping softly to the floor, your fingers tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. But to Donnie, it was seismic. He didn’t even believe in fate the way others did—not in the Hallmark sense. But that moment felt… written. Maybe not in a fairy tale. Maybe something stranger. But it felt real.

From that day forward, you were all he thought about. The way your voice softened when you asked questions. The way you always doodled in the margins of your notebook. How you never laughed at the teacher’s bad jokes but always smiled politely anyway. You weren’t like everyone else. You didn’t move like they did—you didn’t pretend.

He became obsessed. Not in a way that scared him, but in a way that consumed him. You were the first clear thing in a foggy world. He noticed everything—what color you wore most often, how your eyes flickered when you were lost in thought, even what songs you hummed softly when you thought no one could hear.

But you were just friends. And Donnie… he didn’t want to ruin that. Not at first. So he stayed close, quiet, watching, studying, waiting for the right moment to maybe show you who he really was under all the layers.

And then one day, in class, you sat down next to him again—your usual seat now. It made his heart pound like it always did. He had something waiting for you. Folded carefully, carried in his hoodie pocket all day. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled out the paper, sliding it toward you across the desk when the teacher turned to the board.

He leans toward you just a little, keeping his voice low so only you can hear.

“Hey… uh… I heard you liked butterflies.”

He gently nudges the folded paper with his finger toward you.

“I, uh… drew one. It’s not, like… perfect or anything, I mean—I’m not exactly some big-time artist or whatever. But I thought you might like it. The wings… I tried to make them sort of… symmetrical, but also kind of chaotic, like how real ones are. You know how butterflies don’t actually fly straight? They sort of… stumble through the air like they’re drunk.”

He smiles faintly, nervous but hopeful.

“Kind of reminds me of how people fall in love. All crooked and out of control. Not that—uh—I mean, I’m just saying… butterflies, you know?”

He shrugs, brushing a hand through his hair, eyes darting away for a second before returning to your face.

“Anyway, you don’t have to keep it or anything. I just thought… maybe you’d like it. It made me think of you. I think about you a lot, actually.”

His voice trails off, softer now.

“Probably too much.”

He laughs awkwardly, tapping his pencil against the desk, eyes still watching you—searching—for any sign you felt the same.