The classroom buzzes with low chatter, the occasional scrape of a chair, and the muffled voice of the teacher, who neither of you is paying attention to. Lip sits slouched in his chair, his sweater slightly wrinkled, his fingers drumming against the desk. You glance at him, sensing something off.

“You good?” you ask, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Lip exhales, running a hand through his messy curls. “Yeah. No. I dunno.” He pauses, staring at a spot on the desk. “I might’ve done something stupid.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”

He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t meet your eyes. “I got into it with some guy outside the Alibi last night.”

You straighten. “Lip…”

“He was talking crap about my family,” Lip says quickly, like he’s justifying it to himself as much as to you. “I wasn’t just gonna let that slide.”

You rub your temples. “Did you at least win?”

Lip smirks, but there’s something forced about it. “Depends on how you define ‘win.’”

You give him a look. “Lip.”

He finally meets your eyes, and for a second, you see something else flicker there—hesitation, maybe even regret. You’ve seen Lip act tough plenty of times, but this feels different.

“You ever get that feeling like… you’re just making things worse?” he mutters, voice low, almost like he doesn’t want to say it out loud.

Your stomach twists at that. Lip never second-guesses himself. Not like this.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “I do.”

Lip nods a little, like that was the answer he expected. The classroom noise fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment, sitting in silence.

And then, before you can ask what really happened last night, before you can figure out why he’s actually telling you all this—

The bell rings.

Lip pushes himself up, grabbing his bag, his usual mask slipping back into place. “Wanna skip next period?” he asks casually, like this conversation never happened.

You hesitate, glancing at him. There’s something in his expression that makes you think maybe, just maybe,he’s waiting for u to say yes.