The next afternoon, I headed straight to the classroom after lunch, books tucked under my arm. The sun cast long streaks of light across the polished floor, and the air smelled faintly of chalk and warm wood.
Most students had already left for their club activities, leaving the room quiet except for the distant sounds of laughter echoing from the courtyard.
Lawrence was already there, sitting at his desk, flipping through a textbook with that usual bored expression.
"You're early," I said, sliding into my seat.
He glanced at me briefly. "So are you."
I set my books down, ignoring the way my chest felt oddly tight at his simple reply. "We should get this project done before the deadline."
"Relax," he muttered, still not looking at me. "We have time."
I sighed, taking out my notes. "Just because we have time doesn't mean we should procrastinate."
Lawrence finally looked up, his lips twitching slightly—not quite a smile, but close. "You're really serious about this."
"Because grades matter."
He leaned back, tilting his chair slightly. "You sound like a teacher."
I opened my mouth to retort but stopped myself. There was no point arguing.
Instead, I focused on organizing the research, writing down key points, while Lawrence scribbled quietly on his notebook.
For a while, the classroom was filled with nothing but the soft scratch of pens against paper.
---
The silence broke when I accidentally dropped my pen. It rolled under my desk, out of reach.
"Ugh," I muttered, crouching down to grab it.
But before I could, Lawrence bent down and picked it up, holding it out to me.
"Here," he said casually.
I blinked, slightly surprised. "Oh… thanks."
He shrugged, handing it to me without meeting my eyes. "Don't drop it again."
For some reason, my cheeks warmed at the simple gesture.
I looked away quickly, focusing on my notes again. "I'll try not to."
It wasn't a big deal, but something about the way he handed it to me felt… different. Like for a brief moment, he wasn't the cold, distant Lawrence everyone thought he was.
---
We worked for another hour before the sun started dipping lower, painting the classroom in warm shades of orange.
I closed my notebook, stretching my stiff shoulders. "I think we're done for today."
Lawrence nodded, packing his things.
As I stood, my bag strap slipped off my shoulder, and my books almost fell.
Before I could react, Lawrence reached out, steadying the strap with one hand.
"Careful," he said calmly.
I stared at him for a second, startled by how quick he moved. "Oh… uh, thanks."
He let go almost immediately, slipping his hands into his pockets. "You're clumsy."
"I'm not clumsy," I protested, frowning.
He smirked faintly, glancing at me sideways. "Sure."
I narrowed my eyes at him but didn't respond.
We walked out of the classroom together, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
---
On the way to the school gates, a group of girls passed by, whispering again.
*"Look, they're leaving together."*
*"Do you think they're dating?"*
I felt my face heat up, but Lawrence walked ahead like he didn't hear them.
Finally, I muttered, "Don't you ever get tired of people talking about us?"
"No," he said simply.
"…Why not?"
He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable. "Because it doesn't matter. They'll talk about something else tomorrow."
I fell silent, wishing I could be as calm as he was.
---
When we reached the gates, Lawrence stopped. "Tomorrow. Same time."
I nodded. "Right."
He started walking away but paused for a brief moment, glancing back at me.
For just a second, his usual indifferent expression softened—barely noticeable, but enough to make my heart skip.
Then, just as quickly, he turned away and continued walking, hands in his pockets.
I stood there for a moment, watching him go, before shaking my head.
He was still the same cold, annoying Lawrence Cruz everyone thought he was.
At least… that's what I kept telling myself.