The hallway lights buzzed low like they were tired of being here too. It was Friday, and the air smelled like wet grass and cheap cafeteria pizza. You stood by your locker, watching Kevin from the corner of your eye.

He always wore that same denim jacket — slightly torn at the cuffs, like it had stories to tell if anyone ever asked. But no one did. Except you.

You first spoke to him in sophomore English, when you asked if he had a pencil and he gave you his favorite one — chewed at the end, barely an eraser left. He never asked for it back. That tiny moment lived in your head rent-free.

Now you were both juniors, and things had slowly shifted. You started walking home together. First because of a rainstorm. Then because it felt weird not to.

That afternoon, clouds hung low over the school, gray and heavy like your chest when you couldn’t find the words for how you felt. Kevin met you by the bike rack, his hair a little messy, his eyes distant but kind.

“You okay?” he asked, kicking at the gravel with the toe of his sneaker.

You shrugged, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Yeah. Just tired. Life’s weird.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah. It is.”

You both walked in silence for a while, past the trees that lined the edge of the school grounds, past the baseball field where no one ever played anymore. You always passed that old blue house with the broken porch swing — the one Kevin said reminded him of something from a dream he couldn’t fully remember.

He paused in front of it.

“Hey…” he started, and your heart flipped the way it always did when he said anything that sounded too soft.

“I don’t really know how to say stuff sometimes,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But when I’m with you, it’s like… I don’t have to try so hard to be okay.”

You looked at him, really looked — the way his lashes dipped when he was nervous, the way his voice cracked just a little when he was being real.

“I feel that too,” you whispered.

Kevin stepped closer, the space between you thin as paper now.

“I wrote a song,” he said, cheeks flushed. “Well, kind of. It’s dumb. It’s called ‘Harvey.’ It doesn’t make much sense, but it made me think of you.”

“Why?”

“Because… It’s quiet, and kind of messy, and it feels like something I don’t want to lose.”

You felt your throat tighten, but in a good way.

He looked down. “Can I—can I hold your hand?”

You didn’t answer. You just slipped your fingers into his, warm and trembling.

And the walk home never felt so short.