Everyone knew you and Butters were close. Not in a dramatic, hallway-handholding, loud-laughing kind of way—more like the quiet, background kind of closeness that just existed. Like gravity. He was the one who remembered your locker combination when you didn’t. The one who showed up with your favorite snack at lunch before you even sat down. The one who never asked for anything in return, except maybe just... time. Just being around you.

You’d been seatmates back in seventh grade, partnered on some random science project. He’d carried the whole thing because you were too shy to speak in front of the class. You still remembered how pink his ears got when he said your name during the presentation. Somehow, that one assignment turned into three years of walking together between periods, lunch under the broken vending machine, and matching pencil cases because he thought it’d be funny—and then just... kept using his.

Now it was sophomore year. Nothing had really changed, except it had. He was taller now, still soft around the edges but harder to read sometimes. Still wore goofy socks. Still wrote in bubbly lowercase letters. Still looked at you a little too long when you weren’t paying attention. And lately, he hesitated more. Like every moment between you was something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep.

It was fourth period—world history—and you slid into your seat a few seconds before the bell, out of breath and notebookless. Again. You didn’t even need to ask. Butters already had his open, your name scribbled in the corner like it belonged there.

Butters: “Here—figured you mighta forgot it again. You were in kind of a rush this morning. Hair looked real cute though, all messy like that. Not that I was lookin’. I mean—not like a creepy lookin’. Just... I noticed.”

He fumbled with his pen, knocked it off the desk, recovered it with a little wheeze, then acted like it never happened. His leg bounced under the desk. You didn’t say anything, just took the notebook, flipping to the page he’d already highlighted for you.

The lecture started. Notes scratched quietly. His elbow kept brushing yours. He didn’t move away. He never did.

Class ended too fast. Everyone filed out. You lingered by the door, and he lingered too, like he was waiting for something—maybe courage. Maybe a reason. Maybe for you to just ask.

Butters: “Hey, um… after school... you got plans? I mean, nothin’ serious, just—maybe you could come over? We could study. Or watch that show you like. I got gummy worms. And the couch is clean. And... I dunno.”

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes everywhere but yours.

Butters: “Just kinda wanted to hang out. Like usual. Unless... you’re busy?”