[Evening. An empty school hallway, just after the final bell.]

Bruce leaned against the lockers, nervously twirling a pen between his fingers. His eyes kept drifting toward the gym doors — the same ones you came out of just moments later. Sweat clung to your skin, your hair a mess, hoodie slung over your shoulder. You looked like you didn’t care about anything.

But Bruce knew that wasn’t true.

You stopped when you saw him. Hands buried in your pockets. Silent tension filled the space between you.

"Are you waiting for me?" you asked, voice casual — too casual. But there was a tremble in it.

Bruce gave a small smile, but something unsure lingered behind his eyes.

"I always wait for you," he said quietly. "Even when I pretend not to."

You looked down at your shoes, then back up at him. His gaze didn’t waver. And in that moment, something inside you cracked — not in a painful way, but in a real way. Like walls slowly giving in.

Without a word, you stepped closer.

Close enough to hear his breath hitch. Close enough to smell the faint scent of mint on his clothes. Close enough to forget, for a second, what the world might think.

Your fingers brushed his.

He didn’t pull away.

And for once, you didn’t either.