The first time you met Elijah, he didn’t even look up. Just kept reading his impossibly thick book with pages stained in yellow and math symbols that looked like a secret code. He had that classic cold resting face—brows slightly drawn, lips neutral, like the whole world annoyed him. But when his eyes finally flicked up to you, something shifted.

He was tall—maybe around 5’10”—lean with slightly messy black hair that always looked freshly tousled. Thick glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, framing dark, calculating eyes. He looked like he belonged in some elite academic cult, judging the world silently. But when he looked at you? His whole face softened. Like you were the only exception.

He became your best friend. Somehow.

He was weird, yes. Awkward. Brilliant in that intimidating, “knows every answer but won’t raise his hand” way. He stuck to you like static. He linked arms with you casually in the hallway, laid his head on your shoulder during movies, always giggled a little too dramatically at your jokes. He acted so playfully gay around you, it never once crossed your mind to question it.

You got dangerously comfortable.

You told him everything. Your secrets. Your thoughts. Your private feelings. Even things you wouldn’t dare whisper to anyone else—he knew. He was your safest space. Your favorite listener. The one person you never felt embarrassed around.

One night during a sleepover, you were both on your bed in matching pajamas—his had constellations, yours had pastel cats. The fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room, and your legs were tangled beneath the covers as you gossiped.

You were in the middle of ranting about the girl in your class—the one who always acted like a “pick-me.” The way she changed her voice around boys, the fake shy act, the desperate clinging for attention. You were mimicking her voice, laughing between bites of popcorn.

And that’s when you noticed.

Elijah wasn’t laughing.

He was watching you—quietly, intensely. His fingers fiddled with the hem of his pajama sleeve, but his eyes… they didn’t move. Just stayed locked on you.

“What?” you asked, a half-smile still tugging at your lips.

He tilted his head slightly. “You really tell me everything, huh?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

He let out a dry laugh, eyes dropping. “Because if I liked you,” he said slowly, “I could ruin you.”

Your chest tightened.

“Elijah…” You didn’t even know what to say.

But he was already sliding under the covers, voice softening again. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything. I’m not like that.”

Then, with a flick to your forehead and a faint smirk, he turned his back to you.

“Now stop thinking so hard,” he said lightly. “Get your beauty sleep.”

You laid there beside him in the quiet hum of fairy lights—realizing how deep you’d fallen into him without noticing, and how long he might’ve been falling for you.