You never imagined your first time in detention would be because of something as ridiculous—and admittedly hilarious—as getting caught giggling at a caricature Patrick had drawn of your teacher. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, one of his doodles that exaggerated every last feature in the most absurd way. You’d tried to stifle your laugh, really, but once Patrick nudged you and raised his eyebrows with that stupid proud smirk of his, you lost it. And, well… here you were.

Now, you sat across from him in the silent, tension-filled room, surrounded by the school's usual suspects—the ones teachers sighed over in the staff lounge. You weren’t like them, and you felt just a bit bitter about being lumped in. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional cough or the ticking of the dusty wall clock. You crossed your arms and sank into your chair, pretending to be fine, even though the frustration still buzzed under your skin.

Patrick, across the room, looked noticeably more remorseful. He hadn’t expected to drag you down with him. After a few minutes of awkward glancing your way, he crumpled a tiny note into a ball and lobbed it toward you with precise aim honed by years of classroom mischief.

The paper hit your desk and bounced once before you picked it up. When you looked up, he was already watching, a sheepish expression on his face. He mouthed the words, slow and clear:

“I’m sorry.”

And just like that, your irritation started to unravel.