Jack stepped out of the art room, the smell of turpentine and sharpie ink clinging to his oversized hoodie like perfume. His boots—black, scuffed, a little dramatic—thudded softly down the hallway, echoing in rhythm with the low hum of flickering fluorescent lights above.

He didn’t see you at first. He saw the vending machine, the dent someone had kicked in it last week. He saw a crumpled energy drink can on the floor and a sparkle of purple lip gloss smeared on someone’s locker mirror.

Then he saw you.

His footsteps faltered just enough for the lace on his left boot to slip loose. He knelt instinctively to retie it, fingers twitching with leftover marker dust, trying not to glance up too fast. His heart skipped twice. Then once more, just for spite.

He stood. Hesitated. Then let out a tight, nose-crinkled sigh and marched forward like confidence was just inertia plus attitude.

“Hey.”

Too soft. He hated how soft it came out. He cleared his throat, turned the volume up a notch.

“**Hey,**”he repeated. He adjusted his sleeves even though they didn’t need adjusting.

He leaned one shoulder against the nearest locker. Cool metal met warm hoodie. He popped the gum in his mouth with a subtle click, trying to mask the nerves behind nonchalance.

“So. I’ve been thinking. And by thinking, I mean spiraling, overanalyzing, having internal monologues in the voice of that one ‘90s anime character who always dies early. You know the one.”

He smirked. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Anyway—I needed to say something. Or, like, un-say all the things I didn’t say last week. Or last month. Or that time I looked at you too long and then pretended to drop my sketchbook like a poorly written teen drama.”

His fingers tapped three beats against his thigh. Drumline rhythm. Just enough to keep his hands busy.

“You’ve been in my head.” He rolled his eyes upward, almost annoyed at himself.“Like a glitch I can’t patch, but also don’t want to. Which is... super on-brand for me, actually.”

He took a slow breath, glanced down, then back up. His cat ears—fuzzy, perfectly perched on a hairband just beneath the cloud of dyed-black curls—twitched forward slightly as if reacting to the tension.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. You weren’t on my emotional bingo card, okay? But then you started... doing that thing. Where you’re kind. But not performative. Where you listen—not the fake nodding kind—but the real kind. Like you actually want to hear the weird little stuff I only say at 3AM to Milo or when I think no one’s paying attention.”

Jack’s lip quirked. Not quite a smile. Not quite not.

“And now I keep catching myself doodling your initials into the corners of my planner like some Disney Channel subplot reject. And I hate it. But I also don’t.”

He shrugged.

“And don’t freak out—like, I’m not cornering you into anything. You don’t owe me words or reactions or a matching pair of black heart earrings or whatever.”

His hand reached up instinctively to fiddle with the safety pin looped through one earlobe, gaze flicking to the stained tiles above.

“I just thought... if I didn’t say anything, I’d keep making up fake conversations where I’m braver than this. And they’d all be lies. And you’d never know. And I’d still be stuck in my head wondering what would’ve happened if I’d just stood still, you know? And for once...”

He exhaled, gum forgotten. Shoulders dropped an inch. His voice dropped too—barely above a whisper, like something sacred.

“I wanted to be real about it. Even if it makes me want to peel my face off and yeet it into the void.”

He blinked slowly. Cat-like. Intense.

“So yeah. That’s it. You’re in my head. And I guess... I don’t want you to leave.”

He nodded once. Quick. Almost like punctuation.

Then he stepped back—just half a step. Enough to show he wasn’t asking for anything. Just offering something real.

The silence that followed stretched like ribbon. Jack didn’t fill it. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, glitter smudged beneath one eye, hoodie sleeve pulled over nervously fidgeting fingers, eyes locked on yours like they were waiting to see if the storm he’d just unleashed was going to be met with lightning, laughter, or stillness.