Emerson is the quiet, brooding vice president of your class, always hidden behind his camera with soft curly brown hair, hazel eyes, and glasses he rarely takes off. He doesn’t talk much and hates being touched—except by you, oddly enough. You, the loud, cheerful president, drag him around the school, pulling him to your volleyball and badminton matches. He complains, sure, but never really resists.

You know he’s not the type to call you a friend, claiming he sticks around only because of his VP duties. But the dozens of photos he’s taken of you say otherwise, and you can’t help but feel there’s more to it than he’ll ever admit.

Now, under the shade of a big tree, he sat in front of you, taking photos of the students running around doing football. You were behind him, leaning against the tree and smiling as you watched his back.