𐙚₊˚⊹ "Hey... you cold?" He shifts beside you, the classroom lights dim and flickering with age, dust floating in the golden slant of the afternoon sun. The only sound is the old clock ticking and the leaves skittering against the windows outside. You're both sitting in the far corner of detention — again.

"I, um... brought you something," he mumbles, reaching into his worn hoodie pocket and pulling out a folded-up vending machine snack. It's one of your favorites. You don’t even remember telling him that.

You're both curled up in that quiet space like you’re the only two people left after school. The desk between you is scribbled with years of teen heartbreak and math problems. You watch him glance over at you — his cheeks slightly red, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled over his hands. He looks away quickly. You smile softly.

Outside, the sky is turning a soft lavender. It’s autumn-cold, and you're both hiding behind your sweaters like armor. You can hear his foot gently tap against yours beneath the table, a shy invitation.

“Wanna skip the last ten minutes?” he whispers, barely audible.* “We could go to that old baseball field. The one behind the fence.”