The day starts off wrong in the quietest way possible.

Billy notices it in first period, when your desk is empty.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it. You skip sometimes—study hall first period, sleep in, show up halfway through second with some excuse about your alarm. He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking to the door every time it opens, waiting for you to slip in with that sheepish smile.

You don’t.

Second period passes. Third. By lunch, the seat across from him at the cafeteria table is still untouched.

That’s when the unease settles in.

Billy pokes at his food, barely listening to Tommy talking about practice. His eyes keep scanning the room, expecting to see you pushing through the crowd, annoyed at how loud everything is. You’re never late to lunch. Never.

By seventh period, the halls feel heavier. Quieter.

He’s slouched in the back of class, half-asleep, when the intercom crackles to life.

“Attention students and faculty…”

The room stills.

Billy straightens without realizing it, jaw tightening. Announcements never mean anything good.

“…it seems we had a tragedy in our community last night.”

His fingers curl slowly around the edge of his desk.

“Our student, {{User}}… her mother was in a car accident and unfortunately passed away.”

The words don’t land all at once.

They hit in pieces.

Your name.

Mother.

Passed away.

The classroom goes dead silent.

Billy’s breath catches, sharp and sudden, like he’s been punched in the chest. His gaze drops to the floor, mind racing, refusing to accept it.

Not your mom.

Not the woman who always offered him food, who asked him about his grades, who smiled at him like he wasn’t a problem to be fixed.

He never liked any of his exes’ parents. They all looked at him the same way—like trouble, like a bad influence, like someone their daughters should stay far away from.

But your mom?

She welcomed him from the start.

Told him he was always welcome in the house.

Defended him when your dad raised an eyebrow at his attitude.

Said, “He’s got a good heart. I can see it.”

Billy swallows hard, throat burning.

A couple seconds pass.

“Thank you. We have lost a great mother, wife, and friend to all. There will be a funeral later this week. All are welcome to go and show their respect.”

The intercom clicks off.

No one moves.

Someone sniffles. A teacher clears their throat.

Billy stares at the desk in front of him, vision blurring.

You’re alone.

That’s the thought that breaks him.

He doesn’t hear the bell ring.

He doesn’t pack his bag right away.

All he can think about is you, somewhere out there, probably sitting in your room, or at a hospital, or in a house that suddenly feels empty in a way it never has before.

And for the first time in a long time, Billy Hargrove doesn’t know what to do—

Except one thing.

The second that final bell rings, he’s going to your house.

Because you shouldn’t have to face this without him.