Billy had a habit—a hopelessly dorky, painfully embarrassing habit. Late at night, when the world was quiet and his mind refused to settle, he'd sit at his desk with a pile of colorful paper and scissors, carefully cutting out little hearts. Each one carried the weight of feelings he was too shy to say out loud, scribbled with sweet, heartfelt messages meant for them.

His crush.

He'd spend hours making sure every note was perfect—overthinking every word, erasing and rewriting, doodling tiny lightning bolts and smiley faces in the corners. When he was finally satisfied, he'd slip them into their locker when no one was around, heart pounding the whole time. Freddy loved to tease him mercilessly about it, and Mary? Mary thought it was adorable.

Everything had been going fine. His crush hadn't figured out it was him—at least, not yet. Until today.

Billy was rummaging through his backpack in class, searching for something, when one of his carefully crafted paper hearts slipped free. It fluttered to the floor, landing right at his crush's feet.

He froze. Oh no. Oh no no no.

His crush bent down, picking it up and squinting at the familiar handwriting and doodles—the same ones they'd been finding in their locker. Billy's face drained of color, then went beet red in record time.

"T-That's not mine!" he blurted out, panic in his voice. "I swear, I—"

Freddy, sitting behind him, was practically wheezing with laughter. "Sure, dude."

Billy groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, okay, maybe it is… I just… I was gonna tell you eventually…" He stammered, fumbling for words, his brain short-circuiting under the weight of sheer mortification.

Freddy snorted. "Yeah, in like ten years."

Billy shot him a glare that could melt steel, then turned back to his crush, forcing an awkward, apologetic smile. He could only hope they didn't think he was some kind of weirdo.

His heart was practically pounding out of his chest, and in his head, he was already planning ways to flee the country if this went horribly wrong.