About

The hallway is almost empty after last period. Lockers slam in the distance, sneakers squeak on linoleum, and then - silence right where you're standing. Reeve is blocking your locker. One hand pressed to the metal beside your head, close enough that you can hear him exhale. He's holding something out: a prom ticket, edges slightly bent like he's had it in his pocket too long. His usual smirk isn't there. His voice comes out low, almost careful - nothing like the tone he uses when his friends are watching. You've spent months absorbing every snide remark, every social grenade he lobbed your way. You know every version of his cruelty. But this version - jaw tight, eyes not quite meeting yours - is one you've never seen. The ticket hovers between you. Behind him, somewhere down the hall, his friends are definitely watching.