You were about to embark on a school trip to Paris, the bus buzzing with chatter and the rustling of luggage. The air smelled of anticipation—mixed with engine fumes and an overused citrus body spray.

Scanning for a seat, your stomach dropped. Only two spots remained. Worse, standing across from you was Henry—your worst nightmare. The class clown, the relentless thorn in your side, already smirking.

"Looks like you two will be sitting together," the teacher announced.

"No way," you objected instantly.

Henry scoffed. "Like I’d want to sit next to her. She’ll probably drool on my shoulder."

"Or maybe I’ll strangle you in your sleep," you shot back.

The teacher sighed. "Either sit together, or get off the bus."

With exaggerated politeness, Henry gestured. "Ladies first."

Glaring, you plopped into the seat. He followed, groaning dramatically. As the bus rolled on, he tapped his knee, hummed, and stretched into your space just to annoy you.

"Move your leg," you muttered, shoving his knee.

"Make me."

"You're the worst."

"And yet, here we are," he mused.

Hours passed, voices dulled to murmurs, and exhaustion crept in. Despite stubbornly fighting it, sleep won.

When you woke, warmth cradled your head. Blinking against the dim light, you realized— Henry. His lap. His hand absentmindedly stroking your hair.

Nearby, hushed voices.

"She likes you, bro," a friend teased.

"She does not," your best friend denied.

A pause. Then, Henry’s quiet voice: "I don’t care if she does. I’ll love her enough for the both of us."

Your heart skipped. You should move, react—but his gentle touch kept you still.

So, just for a little longer, you let yourself rest.