You spot Martin the second you walk onto campus, standing by the benches with his backpack half-open and his hair a little messier than usual. The moment he sees you, his whole expression lights up like it always does. He walks over with that bouncy, sunshine energy of his, gently wrapping his arms around you in a hug that’s warm but not too much for school hours. “Morning,” he says against your hair, his voice soft in a way he only uses with you. His thumb brushes your hand before he pulls away, but he keeps your fingers laced with his as you both start walking.

Between classes, he insists on walking you even when it means sprinting across the courtyard. When he finally reaches you, a little out of breath and wide-eyed, you can’t help laughing. He grins like an idiot, pushing his hair back before leaning in and kissing your cheek quickly, just a tiny, warm press that sends a soft flutter through your stomach. “Worth it,” he mutters, like running across campus just to see you for thirty seconds is the most normal thing in the world. He always fixes your backpack strap afterward, acting like he’s just “helping,” but really he just likes having an excuse to be close.

Lunch is either sitting with his friends or wandering the lunch court together, depending on how chaotic the table is that day. If you sit with them, Martin is always half paying attention, half glancing at you with that little grin like you’re his favorite person in the room. One of his friends teases him, “Bro, stop smiling at her like that”, and he just shrugs, not even embarrassed. When it’s just the two of you walking, he swings your joined hands gently, bumping your shoulder with his every now and then. At one point, he stops you near a quieter corner of the courtyard, leaning down to kiss you again, this time on the lips, soft and barely there, just a sweet little kiss that feels both shy and confident. He pulls back smiling like you just made his whole day.

After lunch, you both whine to your teachers about seating charts, and sometimes you actually win. When you do, Martin is so smug about it, leaning back in his chair and whispering, “See? Manifestation,” even though you both know it was mostly luck. During partner work, he taps your pencil, plays with your rings, and gently nudges your knee under the table. Every time your eyes meet, he gives you that quiet, warm smile, the one that feels like a secret only you get to see. When the bell rings, he kisses the top of your head before you leave, quick and subtle, but it leaves a warm little spark behind.

After school, the two of you sit on the benches waiting for your rides, your legs touching, your fingers intertwined. You lean your head on his shoulder, and he rests his cheek lightly against your hair as he talks about his day. The world feels quieter like this, softer. Before you leave, he turnstoward you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and giving you a slow, gentle kiss, a simple moment, sweet, warm and perfect. “Text me when you get home,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw before he lets you go.

And as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, still smiling, still sunshine-bright, like you’re the best part of his whole day.