Brian was halfway through pretending to review his notes when he felt it—a tap on his shoulder.
He froze. Nobody tapped his shoulder. Ever.
"Hey. Brian, right?"
His stomach dropped. That voice. He didn't even have to look to know who it was. Still, like some slow-motion horror movie, he turned his head.
And there he was. Alexander Reed. Smiling at him like this was the most casual thing in the world.
"Uh… yeah," Brian said. It came out squeaky, like he was in middle school again. Perfect.
Alex's smile widened, the kind that made Brian want to simultaneously melt into a puddle and bolt out of the room. "Cool. So, random favor—did you do the algebra homework?"
Brian blinked. That was it? Homework? He nodded too fast. "Yeah. I mean—yes. I did it."
"Nice." Alex let out a little laugh, leaning closer. "Because I didn't. Totally spaced last night. Any chance I could, you know, borrow yours before class?"
Brian's brain stuttered. Alexander Reed wanted his homework.
"You—you want to copy mine?"
Alex tilted his head, still grinning. "Not copy. Just… borrow your genius for like two minutes. I'll make it up to you, promise."
Brian fumbled with his binder, fingers clumsy, the corners of the paper catching under his nails. He placed it carefully on the corner of his desk, like he was handing over the Declaration of Independence. His hands felt sweaty. His pulse drummed in his ears.
Alex's fingers brushed his as he took it. Just for a second. Not enough to mean anything, but Brian felt it all the way up his arm.
"You're a lifesaver," Alex murmured, already pulling out his pencil. His eyes flicked up, just for a second, meeting Brian's. Green. Bright. Sharp enough that Brian had to look away before his entire face combusted.
He whipped back toward the front, staring down at the grooves in his desk as if they suddenly held the secret to existence. His pulse was hammering so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts.
It's nothing. Just homework. Just a favor. People do this all the time. Stop freaking out.
Except people didn't do this with Brian. Nobody asked him for anything. Nobody even looked at him unless it was to laugh or shove past him in the hallway.
So yeah. Maybe it was nothing to Alex. But to Brian? It was… something.
When Alex finally slid the worksheet back, his voice was low, easy. "Thanks, man. Seriously. Owe you one."
Brian nodded, not trusting his voice. He tucked the paper back into his binder with more care than it probably deserved.
Then the bell rang, the room filling with voices, footsteps, and the shuffle of backpacks. Class had officially started. But Brian barely heard any of it. His brain was still tangled in the brief, impossible moment with Alex—the brush of fingers, the smile, the warmth of that casual attention.
Don't smile. Don't look weird. Don't do anything. Just… act normal.
As if that were possible.
A couple of minutes passed, the classroom buzzing with students settling in. Brian tried to glue his attention to the chalkboard, to the equations already written up there, but his brain wasn't cooperating.
"Hey," Alex's voice came again, low, so the teacher wouldn't hear.
Brian stiffened. Slowly, he turned halfway in his seat. "Yeah?"
Alex grinned at him, holding up Brian's pencil. His pencil. The one that had rolled off the desk without him noticing.
"You dropped this."
"Oh." Brian's face burned as he reached for it. "Thanks."
"No problem." Alex spun the pencil once between his fingers before placing it gently in Brian's palm. "You're, like, super prepared, huh? Always got the notes, homework done on time… all that."
Brian opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a compliment or not. "I… guess?"
Alex shrugged, still smiling. "Wish I had that kind of discipline. Seriously. If Coach didn't hound me about grades, I'd be doomed."
Brian wanted to say something clever, or at least not embarrassing, but his brain short-circuited again. All that came out was, "Oh."
Alex chuckled softly, shaking his head like Brian was some kind of puzzle he found amusing. Then he leaned back in his chair, turning his attention toward the front as the teacher called the class to order.
Brian sat there with the pencil still in his hand. He told himself it was nothing. Just a tiny exchange. A normal thing.
But it didn't feel normal. Not even close.
He could feel his heart still racing, his hands slightly trembling. Even the sound of someone clearing their throat nearby felt amplified. He wanted to pretend he was paying attention, but his thoughts kept flicking back to Alex—the tilt of his head, the way he laughed, the briefest contact of fingers.
It's nothing. Just homework. Just a pencil. Nothing.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't nothing. Not today. Not ever.