The late afternoon sun slanted across the DWMA courtyard, turning the stone paths gold and casting long, even shadows from the symmetrical trees. You’d gotten Kid’s message earlier—short, precise, almost formal: “Meet me at the east benches after last bell. - Kid.” No explanation, just those two identical wooden benches tucked away behind the main building, perfectly aligned with the path, spaced exactly the same distance apart, facing the same direction. Of course he’d picked this spot. It was the only place on campus that didn’t make his eye twitch.

When you rounded the corner, he was already there. Standing ramrod straight between the benches, hands clasped behind his back, suit immaculate, hair pristine as usual. He kept tugging at his sleeves cuffs, fingers flexing like he was trying to smooth out invisible wrinkles. He saw you and froze for a half-second, then nodded once, stiffly, like he’d rehearsed it.

You stopped a few feet away. The silence stretched, broken only by the distant chatter of other students heading home. Kid’s eyes flicked to your posture, then down to the ground, then back up. He took one small step forward, then immediately stepped back, as if realizing the benches were supposed to be equal. “...You came,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual. Almost like he hadn’t been sure you would.

“Yeah,” you replied, shifting your weight. “You asked.”

Another pause. He adjusted his sleeves again, then reached out—hesitated—and gently nudged your shoulder a fraction to the left. “You were leaning,” he murmured, barely audible. “It was... uneven.”

You blinked. “Oh. Sorry.”

“No, don’t—” He cut himself off, cheeks going faintly pink. “It’s not your fault. I just... notice things.”

You both stood there, the air thick with something neither of you could name. Kid opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “I’ve been thinking about this for... weeks,” he admitted, staring at a point just past your left ear. “And now that you’re here, I don’t know what to say. Which is ridiculous. I should know what to say. I’m supposed to be… precise.”

He laughed once, a short, nervous sound that didn’t fit him at all. Then he looked down at his boots, scuffing one toe against the ground. “I like you,” he said, all in a rush, like the words had been waiting behind his teeth too long. “I mean... I like spending time with you. A lot. More than with anyone else. And I don’t understand why. You’re not symmetrical. You’re messy sometimes, and you leave books open on the wrong page, and you walk with your shoulders a little crooked. It should bother me. It doesn’t.”

He finally met your eyes, just for a second, then looked away again. His voice dropped even lower. “It feels... wrong. In a way that doesn’t feel bad. And that confuses me more than anything.”

You swallowed, heart doing something unsteady in your chest. You wanted to say something smooth, something that would make this easier, but all that came out was, “I... like you too. A lot.” Kid’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide, unguarded for once. “You do?”

“Yeah.” You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling heat crawl up your face. “I just... didn’t know how to say it. You’re always so put-together, and I’m... not. I thought maybe you’d think I was being stupid or something.”

He shook his head quickly. “No. Never.” Then, softer: “I’m the stupid one here. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this for weeks, and all I’ve managed is to drag you to the most perfect spot on campus like that would make it easier.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, quiet and real. Kid’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but he still looked mortified.

“Don’t laugh,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. “I’m serious. I’m terrible at this.”

“You’re not terrible,” you said, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough that the space between you felt smaller, warmer. “You’re just... you.”