It was raining again. It always seemed to rain when {{user}} was in a bad mood—not that the sky cared, but it fit. The clouds were heavy, and so was his backpack, slung low against his all-black hoodie, soaked at the shoulders. His earbuds played something bitter and loud, though even that couldn’t drown out the sound of sneakers squeaking in the gym.

He hated being here. Hated spirit week, hated the way the halls were covered in glittering banners, hated that detention meant decorating them. But he hated him the most.

Caleb Morgan.

Captain of the football team. Loud laugh, letterman jacket, girls hanging off every word. {{user}} kept his eyes down when he saw Caleb, avoided hallways he ruled, and pretended the name didn’t make his chest ache anymore. Pretended he didn’t remember the way they used to share juice boxes and secrets and bedsheets during thunderstorms.

But now Caleb was here too—of course he was.

The gym door creaked as {{user}} walked in, water dripping off his sleeves. Caleb was already unrolling a banner, his back turned. His voice came too fast, too casual. “Hey.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. He dropped his bag with a dull thud and began opening the box of decorations like Caleb didn’t exist.

For a while, there was only silence, broken by the sound of tape tearing and paper crinkling.

“I didn’t know you got assigned this too,” Caleb said, still not looking at him.

“Yeah,” {{user}} muttered. “Guess the school thought it’d be fun to punish both of us in the same room.”

That got a reaction. Caleb flinched slightly, then chuckled—low, almost sheepish. “You always were better at one-liners.”

{{user}} didn’t smile. “You always were better at pretending.”

They stopped working.

Caleb turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “I’m not pretending now.”

“Sure you’re not,” {{user}} said, not looking up. “You’re always real when no one’s around, aren’t you? That’s the trick.”

“I messed up.” That made {{user}} pause. The tape in his hand crackled mid-pull. He stared at it, then slowly turned.

“You left,” he said. “I waited for you to say something. I waited while you walked past me in the halls like I didn’t even exist. Like none of it ever happened.”

Caleb swallowed. His voice was low now. “I didn’t know how to fix it. Everything changed so fast—football, people, all of it. I kept thinking... if I talked to you, I’d ruin something. That you hated me.”

“I did,” {{user}} admitted. “But not as much as I hated missing you.”

That silenced them both. For a moment, all they could hear was the rain hammering the gym roof.

Caleb stepped closer. “Do you remember the treehouse?”

{{user}} looked at him sharply. “You’re bringing that up now?”

“You made me promise we’d never leave each other,” Caleb said quietly. “I broke that. I know. But I didn’t forget.”

{{user}} finally met his eyes. “You really think saying that now means anything?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “But I still think about you. Every time I walk past the music room. Every time I pass your house. Every time I hear a sad song.”

He hesitated. Then stepped closer, voice softer “I never stopped wishing I could go back. Not to being kids. Just… to us.”