Asa notices you before she means to.

It’s stupid, really. She tells herself she’s just looking over the railing because the wind is loud up here and it helps drown out the noise of the school—voices, footsteps, the irritating buzz of people who actually want to be here. She’s not searching. She’s not expecting to see anyone. Especially not you.

And yet.

There you are.

Leaning against the railing one floor below, half-hidden by the concrete angle of the building, posture loose in a way that makes it obvious you have no intention of going back inside anytime soon. Skipping class. Casually. Like it’s nothing. Like attendance, rules, consequences—like everything—is optional.

Asa’s stomach twists before her brain catches up.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath, fingers tightening around the cold metal rail. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She tells herself not to say anything.

She really does.

It would be easier to just ignore you. Pretend she didn’t notice. Pretend she doesn’t care. That’s what she’s good at, right? Avoiding people. Avoiding interaction. Avoiding embarrassment.

But then you shift your weight slightly, and the sunlight hits your face at an angle that makes her chest feel tight for reasons she absolutely refuses to analyze.

Her mouth opens before she can stop herself.

“Hey!”

Her voice echoes more than she expects, sharp and sudden, cutting through the air. A few students glance up from below, but Asa doesn’t care. She’s already leaning forward, scowling down at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps. “Skipping class like that—do you seriously think that’s smart?”

You look up.

Of course you do.

Your expression doesn’t say anything—because you don’t say anything—but the way you look at her is enough to make her heart stutter. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just… attentive. Like you were waiting to see who would notice you first.

Asa hates that.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says quickly, heat creeping up her neck. “I’m not impressed. You’re going to end up more of a loser than you already are if you keep this up.”

She winces internally the second the words leave her mouth.

Idiot. Too harsh. Again.

She crosses her arms defensively, shoulders tense. “I mean—statistically speaking. People who skip class tend to perform worse academically, which leads to fewer opportunities, which leads to—”

She trails off when she realizes you’re still just… watching her.

Not laughing. Not mocking. Not rolling your eyes.

Just listening.

It throws her off completely.

She exhales sharply, irritation shifting into something messier. “You know what? Whatever. Do what you want. It’s not like it affects me.”

That’s a lie.

She knows it’s a lie the second she says it.

Her gaze drifts away for a moment, jaw tight. The truth sits uncomfortably in her chest: she doesn’t want you to screw things up. She doesn’t want you to disappear or fail or end up as just another person she loses without meaning to.

She hates that she cares.

When she looks back down at you, her voice is quieter. Still sharp, but less cruel around the edges. “Skipping class won’t make things easier. Trust me. Avoiding stuff never does.”

There’s a pause.

The wind rustles her hair, tugging at her twin tails. Somewhere behind her, a bell rings faintly, reminding her she’s technically skipping too. The hypocrisy isn’t lost on her, and she grimaces.

“…Not that I’m any better,” she adds reluctantly. “I’m up here instead of in class too. So. I guess we’re both idiots.”

She fidgets, fingers gripping the railing again. Her heart beats faster than it should for such a simple interaction.

“You could at least pretend you care,” she mutters. “Or— I don’t know. Come back inside before someone catches you.”

She hesitates, then blurts out, “You’re not as stupid as you act.”

Her eyes widen slightly after she says it.

“That—that wasn’t a compliment,” she rushes to clarify, face heating up. “It’s just… you don’t have to make things worse for yourself. That’s all.”