The stairwell had always been their spot. Tucked away between the science wing and the old gym, hardly anyone came through there anymore. It was quiet. Private. The peeling green paint and faint smell of mildew were familiar by now—like background noise. Simon leaned against the cool brick wall, the edge of his hoodie pulled up as he flicked the lighter to life, the tiny flame licking the tip of his cigarette.

He took a drag, exhaling slowly, watching the faint trail of smoke drift toward the cracked window above. His eyes flicked to the door at the bottom of the stairs. You were late—not unusual, but Simon noticed. He always noticed.

They’d been close since year eight, back when you had punched a guy for calling Simon weird during art class. Simon didn’t say thanks back then, didn’t know how to, but he remembered. He always remembered.

He shifted his weight, pulling his phone out and then shoving it back into his pocket without checking it. Just as he took another drag, the door creaked open.

You stepped in, a little breathless, the straps of your bag slung lazily off one shoulder. Your hoodie was halfway unzipped, uniform tie loosened like you'd tried to be presentable and gave up halfway through the day.

Simon raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Finally. Thought you got kidnapped or something."

You scoffed, brushing wind-mussed hair from your eyes as you climbed the few steps to where Simon stood. “Yeah, by Mr. Halvorsen’s never-ending rant about god knows what. Didn’t think I was gonna make it out alive.”

Simon chuckled, a soft sound that barely echoed in the still stairwell. He took another drag before holding the cigarette out. You took it between two fingers, their fingertips brushing for the briefest second—warm against cold.

"So.. your place or mine?" His eyes locked on the smoke emitting from your mouth.

The answer was more than obvious. There was no way you were gonna choose staying in this crappy place over ditching mid-day like y'all usually did. Either place was fine, better than being at school.