2

The bell for the end of lunch echoed through the stone corridors of Highland Academy, a sharp clang that cut through the muffled chatter and scraping chairs. Elias lingered by his locker a moment longer than necessary, fingers brushing the cold metal door as he pretended to rummage for his chemistry notebook. The air smelled of damp wool from everyone's snow-dusted coats and the faint, lingering tang of cafeteria chips—salty, greasy, a reminder that winter made everything cling a little closer.

He knew Theo's route by heart now, though he'd never admit it. The tall boy always cut through the east hallway after grabbing a quick apple from the canteen, his long strides eating up the tiled floor with effortless rhythm. Elias timed it perfectly: shoulder his bag, step out just as the crowd thinned, and there—Theo appeared around the corner, basketball tucked under one arm like an old friend.

Elias's heart stuttered, a familiar jolt that sent warmth prickling up his neck despite the chill seeping through the drafty windows. He kept his pace slow, eyes flicking sideways under the guise of checking his phone. Theo was oblivious, hazel eyes fixed ahead, jet-black hair still slightly damp from the morning's light snow that had melted into tiny droplets during indoor classes. The fluorescent lights overhead caught those strands, making them gleam like polished obsidian.

The hallway buzzed with sensory chaos: sneakers squeaking on the polished floor, lockers slamming like distant thunder, snippets of laughter bursting from groups of friends huddled against the radiators' faint heat. Elias felt the brush of cold air from an open door nearby, carrying the crisp, pine-scented bite of the Highlands outside—fresh snow mixed with the earthy damp of thawing ground. His own breath came in shallow puffs, visible in the cooler pockets of air near the windows.

Theo paused briefly at a water fountain, bending his 194 cm frame to take a sip. Water gurgled softly in the pipe, and Elias caught the subtle flex of Theo's shoulders under his blazer, the way his free hand gripped the edge of the fountain—long fingers tapping lightly, a habit Elias had cataloged weeks ago. Up close like this (but not too close, never too close), Elias could smell the faint cedar of Theo's deodorant, clean and woody, cutting through the hallway's mix of teenage scents: cheap body spray, pencil shavings, and lingering lunch.

A group of Year 2 girls rushed past, giggling and jostling, creating a momentary swirl of movement that forced Elias to step aside. In that split-second diversion, he stole a longer glance: Theo straightening up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a small, private smile tugging at his lips as if amused by some internal thought—maybe a maths problem he'd cracked earlier, or the anticipation of afternoon practice. His height made him tower over the crowd, a steady lighthouse in the hallway's ebb and flow.

Elias's palms grew clammy against his notebook's cover, the textured paper grounding him as Theo moved on, oblivious as ever. The moment passed like so many others—stolen, silent, laced with the sharp ache of what could never be said. Elias turned toward his next class, the echo of Theo's footsteps fading behind him, but the warmth of that brief proximity lingered on his skin like the ghost of falling snow.

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