neither of you understood how it began; this peculiar, yet somehow comforting dynamic that had grown between you.

you were head girl of year 12, the embodiment of diligence, ambition, and unwavering discipline. your achievements were hard-won, the fruits of countless late nights and early mornings, every test aced, every duty fulfilled. your uniform was always meticulously ironed, a testament to your pride and dedication. you carried your title not just as a badge of honor, but as a promise to yourself—a promise to be perfect, to be exemplary.

simon, on the other hand, was your antithesis. known by most as ‘ghost,’ he moved through the school like a shadow, slipping between the cracks of the system, elusive and unpredictable. his reputation was forged from scraps of rumors and fleeting encounters, a mixture of intrigue and intimidation. teachers loathed him; students steered clear. he had a talent for being everywhere and nowhere at once, his fury as silent as it was contained. he skipped classes, picked fights that often left bruises, and submitted just enough work to pass the year, maintaining a relentless indifference toward the world—and everyone in it.

you included.

in your earlier years, he’d sneer at your glinda the good demeanor, his words sharp but low, just loud enough to make you aware of his disdain. more often, he’d simply ignore you, as if you were invisible. but then came one unexpected conversation, perhaps born of boredom or curiosity. he found you slightly less intolerable; you found him less of a menace than rumored. you’d begun to consider yourselves friends, though the label felt both uncertain and unspoken. your friends disapproved, your teachers were wary. simon’s thoughts remained a mystery.

you turned the corner, finding him smoking in his usual secluded spot—a haven from the school’s judging eyes. he glanced up, his expression one of habitual disinterest. you held out a sheaf of notes, work he’d missed from another class he’d skipped.