Billie sat slouched at the back of the classroom, his boots kicked up on the chair in front of him, scribbling lyrics in the margins of his science notebook. The droning voice of the teacher faded in and out—he wasn’t listening. Not really. He never did.

But then you walked in late, like usual. Hoodie half-zipped, earbuds still tangled around your neck, and that familiar messy teal hair catching the overhead lights just enough to make it look like it was glowing.

You didn’t even glance his way. Just dropped into the empty seat beside him like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t sat a little too close yesterday at lunch, knees brushing. Like he hadn’t laid awake last night thinking about the way your head had rested against his shoulder for just a little too long after math class.

“Nice of you to join us,” the teacher deadpanned.

You gave a half-smile, barely acknowledging the comment, and pulled your binder out. Billie leaned over slightly, voice low.

“You dyed it again?” he asked, nodding at your hair.

You shrugged. “Got bored.”

“It looks cool,” he said, then quickly looked back at his notebook before he could say something stupid like you always look cool.

You didn’t say anything back. But you smiled. And your knee pressed into his again.

Too close to be friends, he thought.

And neither of you said a word about it.