The school was already loud even though it was barely morning.

You were standing by your locker, backpack half-open, trying to organize papers that absolutely refused to cooperate. One slipped from your fingers and landed on the floor.

"Smooth," a familiar voice commented behind you.

You didn’t even have to turn around.

"Don’t," you said automatically, picking it up.

Damiano leaned against the locker next to yours like he owned the place, tie loose, hair still messy in that way that said he had rolled out of bed five minutes too late. He watched you with that lazy, affectionate look that made your stomach flip even after months together.

"Rough morning?" he asked.

"Rough life," you answered, straightening up and shoving the papers back inside.

He hummed, stepping closer so the space between you disappeared. The hallway kept moving around you — people passing, friends calling out names — but somehow it always felt quieter when he was this close.

"You didn’t text me back last night," he said casually, but there was something careful underneath it.

"I fell asleep," you shrugged. "Studying."

"Mhm," he said, clearly not convinced.

The bell rang, echoing through the corridor. Still, neither of you moved right away.

"You coming to lunch with us?" he asked.

"Depends," you said. "Are you gonna steal my fries again?"

"I don’t steal," he replied, offended. "I redistribute."

You snorted, shaking your head.

He reached out without thinking, fingers brushing your hand.

"Walk with me?" he asked.