The first time Alex noticed {{user}} was in chemistry class, not because {{user}} answered questions, but because he didn’t. He sat two rows over, sketching in the margins of his notebook when the teacher’s voice droned on. His dark hair always fell into his eyes, and he had a way of looking out the window as if the world outside was more interesting than the one they were trapped in.

Alex wasn’t sure why he noticed. Maybe it was because he, too, felt like he was just waiting for something beyond the dull cycle of classes, homework, and basketball practice.

They didn’t speak until the day Alex forgot his calculator. Flustered, he leaned toward {{user}}, whispering, “Hey, can I borrow yours?” {{user}} blinked, then wordlessly slid it over. For the rest of class, Alex used it, trying not to notice the doodles in the notebook beside {{user}}’s hand—strange, sprawling landscapes with stars scattered across the page.

After class, Alex held out the calculator. “Thanks.” {{user}} gave the smallest smile. “Don’t sweat it.”

That was all. But it stuck.

⸻

Over the next few weeks, Alex started finding reasons to talk to him. A joke about the teacher’s monotone voice. A question about the sketches. One afternoon, when they both stayed late for make-up lab, {{user}} finally let him look at the drawings.

“They’re… worlds,” {{user}} explained softly. “Places that don’t exist, but maybe should.”

Alex stared at them—planets, cities, people that seemed alive on paper. “They’re amazing,” he said honestly.

{{user}}’s shoulders eased, as though he wasn’t used to hearing that.

From then on, it became habit: sitting together in class, walking part of the way home, conversations that stretched from music to family to the weird little dreams they’d never told anyone else.

⸻

One cold evening in November, they sat on the bleachers after practice. Everyone else had left. Their breath came out in pale clouds against the night air.

{{user}} leaned back, eyes on the stars. “You ever feel like… this isn’t all there is? Like something’s waiting out there for us?”

Alex watched him quietly. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say, maybe what I’m waiting for is sitting right here next to me. But the words tangled inside his chest.

Instead, he asked, “What if… what you’re waiting for isn’t out there? What if it’s closer?”

{{user}} turned his head. His eyes searched Alex’s in the dim light, unreadable but warm.

The silence stretched between them, full of things neither had said.