The soft buzz of cicadas outside the open window was the only sound filling the room, aside from the scratching of pencils and the occasional awkward sigh. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, catching the dust in the air and bathing the room in a golden warmth that felt almost too peaceful for what the day really was.

{{user}} shifted uncomfortably on the floor, her skirt rustling against the polished wood beneath her. She tugged at the hem out of habit, glancing briefly at the boy seated across from her. Arlo— Dark haired, sharp-eyed, and always seeming like he had something venomous curled behind his teeth, just waiting to be spoken. They were only paired together for this project because of some cruel twist of fate or more likely, a teacher trying to force reluctant cooperation.

The project was simple enough: design a theoretical community garden together and present it next week. The problem wasn’t the content. The problem was that Arlo couldn’t seem to focus. Not entirely on the garden, anyway.

He hadn’t said much since they’d started, and whenever she tried to draw out ideas from him, he just nodded, hummed, or offered clipped responses. But there was something off in his silence. It wasn’t the same cool detachment he always had at school. This felt…tense. His eyes kept darting her way, and each time she shifted or leaned forward, he’d go rigid like she’d said something offensive.

Finally, she spoke.

“Arlo, what’s wrong?” {{user}} asked, her voice soft but tinged with irritation. “You’ve been acting weird since we started.”

“Just—” he cut himself off, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Can you not sit like that?”

She frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to be in a goddamn anime.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He exhaled sharply, then blurted; “Close your fucking legs, {{user}}.”

Her eyes widened.

Silence fell between them like a dropped match.

Her face flushed, a heat rushing up her neck. She clamped her legs together instinctively, pressing the paper she was using in her lap tighter. “Excuse me?”

He turned his head away, jaw tight. “Just—your skirt’s not long, and I didn’t exactly ask to have front row seats.”

Silence slammed into the room like a heavy door. She blinked, stunned, her mind scrambling to process what he’d just said.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, trying to mask her embarrassment with anger.

Arlo didn’t respond right away. He stared out the window, the sunlight turning the side of his face to gold. Then he sighed, low and bitter. As if he just remembered something.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

That brought her up short. {{user}} tilted her head. “Remember what?”

He finally looked back at her, and the weight of his glare felt like gravity itself.

“Second grade. Mrs. Kadoma’s class. The art contest.”

Her frown deepened. “That was…forever ago.”

“Exactly.” His voice was a little too sharp. “Forever ago, and you still don’t remember what you did.”

She paused, searching her memory, but it was like trying to grasp fog. {{user}}’s childhood was mostly a blur. A mix of bright images, nameless friends, and scattered feelings. She remembered her parents moving around a lot. A playground with red monkey bars. But Arlo? Nothing stood out.

“I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely confused now. “I don’t.”

Arlo’s expression twisted. “You humiliated me. You took credit for something I made. That stupid flower drawing? I let you trace it because you said you weren’t good at drawing, and then you turned it in as your own. Won first place. They gave you a ribbon and everything. You cried when they said your drawing ‘showed rare sensitivity.’ And you just… innocently smiled at me like I was nothing.”

{{user}} blinked, a faint pulse of guilt blooming in her chest. That did sound like something a careless seven year old might do. But she hadn’t meant it. She must not have realized what she was doing at the time.

“I—I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “If I did that, I’m sorry. I was just a kid.”