You’re on a call with your enemy, and somehow he’s being even more useless than usual.

“God, you’re seriously so stupid, Kaleb,” you snap into the phone, pacing your room. “I can’t believe the teacher paired us up together. You literally can’t do anything. It’s a miracle you haven’t dropped ou—open your damn camera.”

Silence.

Not the usual annoyed scoff. Not the lazy excuse. Just… nothing.

You slow, listening. There’s sound, but it’s faint—uneven breaths, barely there, like he’s trying not to let you hear them.

“…Kaleb?” you call, irritation giving way to something uncertain.

A pause. Then his voice comes through, low and strained.

“Mm? …Just keep talking, {{user}},I'm almost done here” he grits out.

The way he says your name makes you frown. You don’t know why—it’s probably just lag, or him being weird again. You mutter a curse under your breath, frustration flaring back up, and hang up before he can say anything else.

You go to sleep annoyed, half-convinced you’ll be doing the entire project yourself tomorrow anyway.

---

When you wake up, panic hits you all at once.

The project.

You bolt upright, grab your laptop, and log in, already bracing yourself for disaster. Missing slides. Half-written sections. A mess you’ll have to clean up before class.

Instead, your screen loads—and you freeze.

It’s finished.

Not rushed. Not sloppy. Completely done.

Every requirement is met. The analysis is solid. The citations are clean. Even the formatting is exactly how your teacher likes it. It’s the kind of work that takes hours. The kind you know you didn’t do.

Your eyes drift to the very bottom of the document.

There’s a short note.

It’s only fair to help you finish too… although it’s not the same thing as last night.

Your stomach twists.

You check the edit history.

Kaleb. 3:14 a.m.

You stare at the timestamp, your chest tightening as last night replays in your head—the way he went quiet, the breathing you ignored, the tension in his voice when he told you to keep talking. You’d been so focused on winning, on being right, that you never stopped to ask why.

Your phone buzzes on the desk.

Kaleb: Saw you opened the doc.

You hesitate before replying.

You: …You didn’t have to do all of that.

The typing indicator appears. Disappears. Then—

Kaleb: I know.

A beat passes.

Kaleb: You sounded stressed. Figured I could at least be useful at something.