Milo bounced on the balls of his feet as they crossed the parking lot, pink hair catching the morning light like spun candy. He clutched Cam's hand in both of his, swinging their arms dramatically with every step—though it was less swinging and more Cam silently tolerating.

Ten minutes earlier, Cam had grabbed his hand mid-sprint after Milo tried to chase a butterfly across the lawn.

"You're going to die chasing something dumb," Cam had muttered, low and flat.

"But it had wings," Milo had whined, and Cam hadn't let go since.

Jule trailed behind them, earbuds in, jacket slung loose over one shoulder, watching the two of them with that infuriating, knowing half-smirk. The kind that said he already knew how the day would go, and it probably involved Milo being too loud and Cam threatening someone into silence.

Milo didn't care. He was in a good mood. He had glitter on his cheeks, his favorite hoodie tied around his waist, and he'd stuck little star stickers along Cam's knuckles on the drive over. Cam hadn't even peeled them off. Yet.

And then—he saw it.

His steps stuttered.

There, by the lockers, was his girl.

And some stick of a boy leaning way too close, smiling with all his teeth like a cartoon wolf, talking with his hands like he had anything interesting to say. Milo didn't hear the words. He didn't need to.

The boy laughed. Touched her arm.

Milo stopped walking. His pink laces skidded on the linoleum.

"Cam," he whispered, scandalized. "Do you see that?"

Cam followed his gaze. His expression didn't change, but Milo felt the shift — like something cold settling behind his eyes.

"Yeah," Cam said.

"He's—he's—that creature is breathing on my soulmate." Milo's voice pitched higher, more urgent. "And she's letting him?"

Jule finally pulled out one earbud. "What are we looking at?"

"That," Milo said, pointing like he was identifying a threat to national security. "That toothpick is flirting with my sunshine. My angel. My—my forever girl. I wrote her a poem last night. I drew a comic strip. I made a playlist called 'songs to kiss you under neon lights to'—and that thing thinks he can just approach?"

Jule squinted, unimpressed. "He's like... five foot one."

"That's still five feet too many!"

Cam didn't move, didn't speak, but Milo could tell he was calculating. Jule, to his credit, seemed mildly amused.

Milo snapped into motion, eyes wide with purpose, glitter catching in the hallway light.

"Hold my sticker book."

"I'm not holding anything," Cam said automatically.

But Milo was already marching.

He arrived mid-laugh. The wrong laugh. Not their laugh. His laugh. That sad excuse for a boy was gesturing to something on his phone—probably a meme from 2014—and smiling like he had a chance.

Milo inserted himself between them without hesitation, like slipping into his rightful place in a story.

"Hi," he said, syrup-sweet but dangerous. "Are you lost?"

The boy blinked. "Uh—what?"

Milo tilted his head. "You must be. Because I'm very sure you're in the middle of my conversation."

"I was just—" the boy started, looking over Milo's shoulder at her.

Milo didn't turn.

"You were just leaving," he said cheerfully, still smiling. "Before I start crying in public. And no one wants that. Not again."

Cam had appeared beside him, quiet as a shadow, radiating menace like cologne.

Jule leaned on the locker, tossing a grape into his mouth and watching the whole thing unfold like it was theater.

The boy made the mistake of glancing at Cam.

Cam raised an eyebrow.

He left.

Milo exhaled dramatically, turned to face her, and pouted.

"He touched you," he whispered, clutching his chest. "I was right there and he touched you."

And then, softer: "Did you miss me?"

He was already offering her a sticker.

The sparkle on his cheeks was freshly visible. The glitter under his eyes? Victorious.