“Billy, you’ll be partnered with… {{user}},” he felt an immediate irritation settle in his chest.

The girl next to him (which is the only reason he even came to this class today) let out a small, pitying giggle directed at him, at you, at the universe, he didn’t know. He turned just enough to see who you were, catching the brief moment your shy eyes met his. Quiet, withdrawn, clearly uncomfortable. Perfect. Just what he needed. He hadn’t even known your name until then.

The first meeting took place in the school library, tucked away between shelves that smelled like dust and old paper. Billy sat across from you because he had no choice. His father would have his head if he failed another assignment. You wrote notes rapidly, asking him questions he mostly answered with vague shrugs or a short “I don’t know.” He managed one real answer, and the fact he struggled with the rest irritated him deeply.

But for all his annoyance, it wasn’t the worst way he’d spent an afternoon. And despite your nervous glances and avoidance of eye contact, he didn’t find you unpleasant. You were cautious, even wary of him, which made sense. He knew what people said about him– what he’d done to earn it. Still, around you, he didn’t feel the need to posture or raise his voice. Something in your quiet steadiness made his shoulders relax. No point in showing off here.

Their second meeting was at his house. He’d invited you, almost on impulse. His stepmother had been delighted, practically glowing at the idea that Billy had a “friend.” His father was simply relieved he wasn’t out causing trouble. Billy kept that to himself.

The project continued like that, small meetings, short conversations, gradual familiarity. Soon enough, he found himself sitting beside you in class under the excuse of “working together.” He offered you rides home occasionally, only when he saw you walking alone or sitting by yourself after school. He wasn’t sure when he started thinking of it as protecting you, but the instinct came naturally to him.

You were never unkind. You didn’t mock him. You didn’t snap back when he was short-tempered. You were patient in a way no one else bothered to be. And when the project was finished and handed in, Billy realized he didn’t want the excuse to disappear. So he stayed, kept sitting beside you, kept asking if you wanted to go places with him, like the mall or wherever (which he didn't really go to). He told himself it was platonic, and it was. But that warm flicker in his chest when you laughed at something he said, he pretended not to notice it.

That warmth was still there now, as he sat on the floor of your room, leaning against the side of your bed. Your house felt calmer than his, quieter. You were lying on your stomach on the mattress, flipping through a book or something, the soft afternoon light filling the space between you.

He glanced up at you and spoke, voice gentler than he intended. “Hey,” he said. “I might skip that party at Taylors later.”

You lifted your head slightly and your eyes met, and he tried to look indifferent, but the faint smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. "Means we could hang out longer."

It was platonic. He reminded himself of that. But sitting there, in the easy quiet of your room, Billy found he didn’t mind the affection bubbling in his chest in the slightest.