It was between the fourth and fifth class, just after first lunch and Chemistry was to begin in five minutes. Mike was stealthy whilst walking along the locker corridors. His goal: the all familiar locker he had visited every day for the past few years. The owner being {{user}}, who was currently in his fifth period Chemistry class and who he had endlessly adored since they met eyes in seventh grade studio art.

"Let's hope he likes this chocolate.. they were out of his favorite.." Mike muttered to nobody in particular as the locker clicked shut—his breath hitched against distant, squeaky footsteps.

He bolted, running out of the doorway that extended at the end of the hallway, prompting to go around the building even if it risked being late fifth. Mike couldnt risk {{user}} discovering his identity.