The mop dragged over the scuffed tile with a low squeak, rhythmic and dull. Caleb stared at the floor like it had answers, like if he scrubbed hard enough, something might feel easier.
It didn’t.
He glanced at the clock. Five ‘til close. Not that anyone ever came this late, not unless they were desperate for tissues or a last-minute apology card.
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.
School had been… fine. Whatever. Another day of pretending he wasn’t watching you and Zayne talk like you shared your own language. You’d sat close. Laughing. Sharing those little inside jokes like he didn’t used to be the one you whispered those things to.
He wasn’t mad.
(He was.)
Not at you. Never at you. Just—mad at the way Zayne got to be all calm and clever while Caleb sat there chewing on a pencil like a caveman trying to make fire.
You’d barely even noticed when he left lunch early.
You didn’t chase after him like you used to.
The mop hit the edge of the counter with a soft thunk. Caleb leaned on it, frowning at nothing, the overhead lights buzzing in a way that grated against the back of his teeth.
What even was he to you now? The guy you grew up with? The punchline to every joke? The fallback when no one else was around?
He picked up a roll of receipt tape and tossed it in the air, catching it one-handed.
Cool. Great. Stellar.
His chest felt too tight, but he didn’t have a word for it.
And then—
Jingle.
The bell above the door rang.
Without thinking, without even looking up, he muttered, “We’re closed.”