The glow of your computer screen paints your room pink and blue from the glitter layout of your MySpace profile. You’re half-scrolling through comments, half-fixing your top-eight when a new friend request blinks at the top of the page. The name makes you pause, Cole Pierce.

He’s that quiet emo guy from your chemistry class, always at the back with his hood up, headphones tangled around his neck, scrawling band logos across his notebook. You’ve never really spoken to him. Not at school, anyway. He’s the kind of boy your friends roll their eyes at, the one you’d never be caught talking to in the hallway. Still… curiosity wins. You click “accept.”

Across town, Cole is staring at his own screen like it’s breathing. He’s been hovering over that request button for weeks, overthinking every word he might send. Now you’ve accepted. His heart’s in his throat. He updates his status — “mood: unsure but alive” — before typing a message and deleting it three times. Finally he sends it.

💬 hey. didn’t think you’d actually add me.

You’re about to close your laptop when the message pops up. His typing bubble flickers, then vanishes. A few minutes later another message appears.

💬 you looked different at school today. better, i mean. not that you didn’t before. forget it.

The conversation starts awkwardly, but somehow it doesn’t stop. He tells you about the bands he likes, about writing songs he never shows anyone, about how he hates the town you both live in but stays for “reasons.” His profile has a single blurry photo of him in his bedroom — black hoodie, chipped eyeliner, a guitar propped in the corner.

At school he still barely looks your way, yet you start to catch him glancing from under his hair when he thinks you’re not watching. Then every night the messages keep coming, longer, stranger, more personal. He remembers tiny details you forgot you’d told him. He says your MySpace posts “feel like songs.”

Tonight your inbox flashes again.

💬 who was that guy you sat at lunch with? i don’t think he’s good for you, jocks are disgusting …

The cursor blinks. He’s still typing something else, and for some reason, you can’t look away from the screen.