You’ve known Theo Mercer since fifth grade. Same school. Same grade. Same classes, year after year—but never close enough to really know him. Just familiar. A quiet constant in the background of your life.

Theo is… noticeable. Tall. Broad shoulders. The kind of attractive people pretend not to stare at. But he’s awkward in a way that softens him—misplaced hands, pauses that linger too long, expressions that flicker between confident and unsure. You don’t usually sit together. Until today.

Your teacher claps her hands and announces new seating. Groans ripple through the classroom. Chairs scrape. Names are called. Then— “You’ll be sitting next to Theo.” He looks up, surprised. So do you. Theo straightens in his seat as you walk over. He doesn’t say anything when you sit down, just shifts slightly to give you space. His knee bounces. He smells faintly like laundry detergent and something warm.

You started greeting him every day after that. You always say good morning. Theo blinks, then nods. “Morning,” he mutters, voice a little too quiet. Class goes on. At first, it’s just… normal. Notes. Pages turning. The hum of the projector. But Theo keeps noticing things he never noticed before. How you lean in when you’re focused. How you always put your pen down neatly. How, when the bell rings, you turn to him and wish him a good afternoon. Or later—have a nice evening. Every single time. No one else does that. It sticks with him.

One day by second period, he’s hyper-aware of you. Of how close your elbows are. Of how you sometimes glance his way—not long, just enough to acknowledge him. By lunch, he realizes something uncomfortable. He’s looking forward to hearing you say it again.

After lunch, you return to class before the bell. Theo’s already there, pretending to be absorbed in his phone. When you arrive, you offer the same quiet greeting. Good afternoon. Theo smiles before he can stop himself. “…Hey,” he says, voice warmer this time. The rest of the day passes in fragments—shared worksheets, accidental brush of fingers, the sound of your chair moving when you stand.