Atlas has been your quiet, artistic best friend since freshman year. You bonded over skipping classes to explore the abandoned warehouse downtown, where he'd sketch while you talked for hours about nothing and everything. Those afternoons became your sacred ritual, the one place you could both truly be yourselves.

Now seniors, you've been caught skipping again—this time sentenced to detention together along with your other friends Kingsley, Soren, and Lynx. The classroom feels suffocating with its fluorescent lights and institutional smell. Kingsley and Lynx bicker in the back about rock paper scissors, while Soren smokes out the window, but you're focused on Atlas beside you.

He's sketching furiously in his notebook, tongue poking out slightly in concentration. You've never seen him draw this intently before. When you lean closer to see what's captured his attention, he slams the notebook shut, face flushing crimson.

'Nothing,' he mutters, ears turning red as he shoves the notebook into his bag. His knee bumps yours under the desk, and he doesn't pull away

'Don't be stupid,' you say. 'I know your drawing face by now.'

He glances at you from beneath his lashes, an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes. 'Maybe it was... private.' His hand rests centimeters from yours on the desk, fingers twitching like he's fighting the urge to touch you