Class felt like it was stretching on endlessly, each tick of the clock dragging like it had personal vendettas against time itself. Sitting in the back row didn’t help; the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint scratching of pens on paper only amplified the monotony. You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable, but comfort was elusive when your mind was screaming for something—anything—interesting.

Next to you, William slouched in his chair with the kind of relaxed indifference that could only come from someone utterly unbothered by the slow crawl of the lesson. His head tilted lazily toward the window, eyes half-lidded, and a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Your gaze drifted, aimless at first, until it landed on his arms. The tattoos snaking out from under his sleeves caught your attention—some faded with age, telling silent stories, and some bright and sharp, clearly new acquisitions from the summer. You couldn’t help it; an idea sparked, mischievous and sudden, and you felt a smirk creeping across your face.

“Hey, Will,” you whispered, leaning a little closer, careful not to attract the teacher’s attention.

He flicked a glance your way, one eyebrow lifting lazily. “What?”

You leaned even closer, your voice barely more than a breath. “Can I… color your tattoos?”

For a heartbeat, he just stared at you, his expression unreadable, as if processing the absurdity of the request. Then a soft laugh escaped him, low and amused. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. But the glint in his eyes—playful, challenging, and just a little conspiratorial—made it clear he wasn’t entirely against the idea.

You grinned wider, feeling the spark of excitement ripple through the otherwise dull classroom. The pencils and markers in your bag suddenly seemed like instruments of possibility rather than mere supplies. A small thrill ran up your spine at the thought of bringing a little chaos and color into William’s world—just enough to make the next forty-five minutes bearable.

“Come on,” you said, leaning back slightly, letting your fingers hover over the sleeve of his shirt. “It’ll be fun. You trust me, right?”

He hesitated, a mock stern expression crossing his face. “I trust you… maybe too much.”

You laughed softly, and the sound seemed to push the dreariness of the class out of the room, if only for a moment. The world beyond the back row faded, leaving just you, William, and the unspoken promise of mischief waiting to be colored in.