“You alrigh’ there?” A voice says from behind you, startling you as you glance backwards from where you’re waiting by the locker rooms. You blink at the sight of him — Simon Riley, in your year group, wearing a black football jersey, boots scuffed with mud, his hair messy and sweaty.

“Oh, uh yeah,” you mutter, flushing slightly at being called out. You know him — Simon Riley, captain of the football team, stormy grey eyes and all hard muscles. He’s not like the rest of his teammates who are known to be rowdy hooligans, a quiet intensity to him that keeps the rest of them under control.

“Just uh, waiting for a friend,” you explain, scratching the back of your head. Simon nods slightly at that, his eyes flicking over you briefly, so quick you almost miss it. You think he’s going to leave it at that, that he’s going to just step inside the locker rooms to change, but he doesn’t, and it makes you blink when he keeps talking.

“I’ve seen you around, {{user}} right?” Simon mutters, his voice rough, his skin flushed from practice, but his grey eyes are focused on you.

“Yeah,” you answer, a little awkwardly. “We uh had math together last year.” You don’t expect him to remember. You ran in different circles, never spoke beyond the occasional glance across the room. But then—

“Blue notebook,” Simon says, almost absently.

You blink. “Huh?”

His jaw works, like he’s debating whether to keep going, his gaze shifting away as the wind ruffles his messy hair. But then he does.

“You had a blue notebook. A planner or something. With white stripes," Simon mutters, voice quieter now, thoughtful. “You used this black pen with a star charm on it.” He glances at you before looking away again, as if unsure why he’s admitting this at all.

The words settle between you, unexpected and soft in a way you can’t quite place. He noticed. You stare at him, blinking softly, unsure what to do with the realization that Simon Riley— the Simon Riley —paid enough attention to remember something as small as the colour of your notebook.