The hallway smelled faintly of soil and chalk, his presence always marked by that earthy scent. She shoved his notebook just enough to annoy him, but not enough to tear it. The coarse edge of her sleeve brushed his fingers—he flinched, then didn’t pull away. Light glinted in his red eyes, unreadable but not angry. Her teasing words echoed, sharp against the quiet hum of midday. His voice, warm and steady, broke the tension like soft rain on hot stone.

“You don’t have to pretend you hate me, you know. I don’t mind… staying, if you need me to.”