Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

OJ was early to homeroom. He always was.
He liked the quiet before the day officially started, before the halls filled with footsteps and chatter, before the noise could sink into his head and stay there all day.

Usually, Paper would stroll in a few minutes after OJ, but today? It wasn’t Paper who walked in first.

Pickle dropped into his seat, chewing something, unusually calm for 7:45 AM.

OJ blinked. “Woah. You’re early.”

“Didn’t feel like standing around in the hallway,” Pickle said, mid-chew. “Paper’s not here yet?”

“No..." OJ glanced toward the door. "Bell’s about to ring, too. Maybe he’s not coming in today.”

He tried to sound casual, but his chest tightened. Paper was never late without texting first. And thinking about Paper only made everything else crawl back into his brain.

They had been friends since middle school, but it hadn’t always looked like this. It started with awkward small talk, quiet nods, and occasional glances across the classroom. Paper had asked for help on homework once... or maybe twice... and of course OJ helped without thinking.

Later, Paper admitted he already knew the answers he was asking for. He just wanted a reason to talk to OJ more.

Things grew from there. The conversations got longer. They formed inside jokes. Their texts went from homework reminders to full-blown 1 a.m. vent sessions.

Somewhere along the way, they became inseparable. Always checking in. Always showing up early, even if it was just to spend five more minutes with the other.

Sure, they were just friends. But to anyone else, it looked like something more.

Everyone could see it, everyone except OJ.

Paper though? He knew exactly what he felt. He just didn’t know if OJ felt it too.

And that terrified him.

Anyway, back to the present: two minutes after the bell, the door burst open.

Paper stumbled in with his jacket half-zipped, hair wild, and cheeks pink from the cold. He looked like he had just sprinted across the entire school.

“Sorry I’m late! I swear my alarm hates me!”

The teacher barely looked up, lazily waving him toward his seat.

Paper dropped into the chair next to OJ with a groan, then perked up almost instantly. “Okay, okay, I know I’m late... but look!” He held up two coffee cups with a proud grin. “I brought us coffee!”

OJ blinked. “You bought me coffee?”

Paper grinned wider. “Well, I bought me coffee. But then I felt bad, so... I got you one too!”

Suspicious, OJ took the cup. “You’re not, like, poisoning me or anything... right?”

Paper laughed, his soft, warm laugh, the kind that made OJ feel like everything was okay, even when it wasn’t.

“Seriously? Would I do that to you?”

OJ opened his mouth to fire back, but the words stuck. He was looking at Paper now. Really looking. At the curve of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled, the pink flush in his cheeks.

And something in OJ’s chest shifted.

“God, I love his laugh,” he thought, panic lacing the edges of the realization.

He laughed too, but it felt automatic, like his body was on autopilot while his brain screamed, something’s happening.

Because this was his best friend.

His best friend.

So why did he want to kiss him?

"Jay?"

OJ blinked.

Paper had tilted his head, concerned but teasing. “Earth to OJ?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry!” OJ scrambled, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Paper raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it. “The first bell just rang. We’re going to be late for history! Let’s go!”

He stood up, walking toward the door with that usual bounce in his step, slow enough for OJ to catch up.

OJ grabbed his bag, his heart pounding quietly in his chest.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

They were just friends.

This is what friends felt around each other.

...Right?

———

Paper always said history was his favorite class, though it was probably because the teacher barely did anything, and it gave him an excuse to talk to OJ the whole time.

OJ didn’t mind.

He didn’t get to see Paper much during the rest of the school day, so he made the most out of the moments they did get.

But today felt... different.

Paper kept stealing glances at him when he thought OJ wouldn’t notice.

Except OJ always noticed.

And Paper could feel it, too, the way OJ was acting weird, quieter than usual.

He didn’t know what had changed exactly.

But it scared him a little.

Because for a split second that morning, when OJ had looked at him, really looked at him, Paper could swear he saw something there.

Something he had been afraid to hope for.

Paper tapped his pencil nervously against the desk, stealing another glance.

OJ was already looking at him.

Their eyes met.

Paper smiled instinctively, soft and a little bashful, feeling his heart trip over itself.

“God, please,” Paper thought. “Please feel the same.”

"What?" Paper whispered.

"Nothing," OJ mumbled quickly, snapping his eyes back to his notes like they were the most fascinating thing in the world. "Stop looking at me, weirdo."

Paper scoffed under his breath. "Hey, you were staring first."

They both laughed, quietly, secretly, like this was their own little world.

From across the room, Pickle watched it all unfold.

He had seen this happen about a thousand times: the glances, the smiles, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Pickle, the designated emotional translator of their entire friend group, had been quietly rooting for them for months. Maybe longer.

OJ caught Pickle staring and knew exactly what the raised eyebrow and head tilt meant: Just ask him already.

OJ turned red and whipped his head back around to Paper.

“Hey... we’re still hanging out after school, right?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Paper lit up. “Yeah! Movie night at Pickle’s.”

OJ nodded. “Cool, cool. Just... making sure.”

Paper looked at him a little longer than necessary.

There it was again, that feeling in his chest, heavy and fluttering all at once.

Was it hope? Or was it fear?

Before he could figure it out, the bell rang.
Saved by the bell.

They both stood up, gathering their stuff.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” Paper asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” OJ said. “See you at lunch.”

And just like that, they went their separate ways.

OJ watched him walk off down the hall and sighed, already counting the minutes until he saw him again.

Paper, halfway down the hall, clutched his bag a little tighter. “Maybe today,” he thought. “Maybe today I’ll finally know if he feels it too.”

Chapter Text

It was lunchtime, and from across the cafeteria, Pickle spotted OJ and Paper giggling at their usual table: heads close, hands brushing, completely lost in their own little world.

He grabbed Bomb’s arm before they could walk over. “Dude. They are so obviously in love.”

“D-Duh,” Bomb replied. “W-We’ve been watching this s-slow burn since middle school, and we’re juniors now. Th-They’re just never gonna see it.”

“No, no, don’t say that!” Pickle said, clutching his chest dramatically. “Do you know how many almost-hugs we’ve suffered through? The accidental hand brushes? The stupid longing looks across the room?!”

Bomb finally turned his head and gave them a glance. “Y-You’re acting like you’re the one in love.”

“I am! With the idea of them being in love! It’s romantic! It’s fate! And I’m bored!” Pickle cried.

At that moment, Knife walked up, already frowning. “What’s with all the noise?”

Pickle turned instantly. “Paper and OJ. Those two idiots are in love, and we need to make them realize it.”

Knife groaned. “If this is another scheme, I’m leaving.”

“It’s not a scheme!” Pickle protested and then, a second later, whispered to Bomb, “It’s totally a scheme.”

Knife crossed his arms. “Do you even have a plan?”

Pickle grinned wide. “Movie night. Cozy couch. Scary movie. Blanket 'accidents.' Forced proximity. Romance.”

Knife gave him a flat look. “That sounds like the worst plan ever.”

Bomb nodded excitedly. “S-Strategic m-movie night!”

Knife sighed. “Fine. But if this blows up, I’m blaming you.”

Pickle pumped his fist. “Operation: Totally Not a Setup is a go!”

Knife rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m bored.”

———

Pickle’s living room looked like it had been attacked by a blanket monster. Pillows everywhere, beanbags squashed into corners, dim lighting, and exactly one cramped spot left on the couch.

Perfect.

Bomb sprawled on a beanbag, pretending not to watch as Pickle adjusted the setup for maximum "accidental cuddling."

Knife looked ready to walk out.

Then, finally, Paper and OJ arrived.

Paper paused in the doorway, suspicious. “Why does it look so… pillow-y in here?”

Pickle beamed. “For the vibes? It’s cozy!”

“Okayyy...” Paper said slowly, but he didn’t question it. He sat down first, scooting into the cramped middle of the couch.

OJ hovered awkwardly. “Uh. Where am I supposed to sit?”

Pickle grinned. “Only one seat left, buddy.”

OJ squinted. “This feels like a trap.”

Pickle threw up his hands. “It’s fate!”

Paper laughed under his breath and patted the spot beside him. “It’s fine, OJ. Sit.”

Paper tried to sound casual. He tried to act like his heart wasn’t pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

He knew he was in love. He had known for a long time now.

And it terrified him, because he could barely look at OJ without giving everything away.

OJ finally flopped down next to him, a little too close. Their arms brushed.

Neither moved away.

Pickle started the movie and signaled Knife to follow him to the kitchen. “You guys can start without us! We’re going to start popcorn for us.”

The movie started: Terrifier. Scary, chaotic, exactly what Pickle had hoped for.

At first, Paper focused hard on the screen. Anything to ignore how OJ’s thigh pressed lightly against his own.

Anything to pretend he wasn’t thinking about reaching out.

About closing the tiny space between them.

About holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His fingers twitched once on instinct, moving an inch toward OJ’s hand, before he caught himself and yanked it back, his heart dropping into his stomach.

“You can’t,” he told himself. “You’re lucky he even wants you around. Don’t ruin it.”

Then a loud shriek on screen sent Paper jumping, and without thinking, he clutched OJ’s sleeve.

OJ stiffened instantly.

It was like electricity, like every cell in OJ’s body jolted awake all at once.

Paper pulled back immediately, face flaming. “S-sorry, I—!”

“No! No, it’s fine!” OJ said too quickly, his voice cracking. He clutched at the fabric of his jeans like it might ground him. “I was… I was scared too!”

But he wasn’t scared of the movie.

He was scared of the way his heart jumped when Paper touched him.

Scared of how badly he wanted him to do it again.

Paper laughed weakly, hugging a pillow to his chest like a shield. “Yeah. Totally terrifying.”

OJ nodded way too hard. “Terrifying. Yup.”

Pickle stage-whispered from the kitchen, “Popcorn’s almost ready!”

Paper wrapped his arms tighter around the pillow, stealing glances at OJ from behind it.
He could still feel the ghost of where his hand had grabbed OJ’s sleeve.

OJ’s hands fidgeted restlessly in his lap. He stared at the TV but saw nothing.

His mind was a mess.

“It’s just Paper. It’s always been Paper. Why does it feel like something’s changed? Why does it feel like if you got even an inch closer, you’d never want to leave?”

Paper, watching him, swallowed hard.

He knew.

He knew OJ was scared.

He knew it wasn’t because OJ didn’t care; it was because he did, and he didn’t know how to handle it.

Still, it hurt.

It hurt because Paper already knew he was in love and was tired of pretending he wasn’t.

“Hey, OJ?” Paper said quietly.

OJ jumped slightly. “Y-Yeah?”

“Do you ever... feel like something’s different?” Paper asked, voice barely above a whisper.

OJ froze. He turned to look at Paper, who was watching him carefully, almost like he was daring to hope.

“Different?” OJ repeated, heart hammering.

“Yeah. Between us.”

A heavy silence settled over them.

OJ opened his mouth, the words right there, too big to swallow: I think I’m in love with you.

But panic flared sharp and bright. His chest squeezed painfully.

“I think I—” he started…

“OH MY GOD FINALLY!!”

Pickle’s voice shattered the moment.

Paper and OJ jumped like they’d been electrocuted.

The popcorn bowl clattered to the floor. Knife groaned loudly. Bomb didn’t even look up.

Pickle ran into the living room, hands in the air like a coach whose team just scored. “Knife! Bomb! Did you hear that?! It’s happening!!”

“Kill me,” Knife muttered.

OJ buried his face in his hands, mortified. “Pickle. I swear.”

Paper, to his horror, laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was soft, breathless, dizzy, the kind of laugh that felt like a secret shared between just them.

Pickle quickly realized what he just did and slowly went back to the kitchen. “Sorry you two just… carry on!”

Now with Pickle gone, they can finish their talk.

Paper, cheeks still pink, leaned slightly toward OJ. “You were saying?”

OJ’s heart jumped into his throat.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But fear shoved the words back down.

“It wasn’t important,” he mumbled.

Paper smiled sadly, the kind of smile you make when you don’t expect anything but wish you could.

The movie started again.

Neither of them moved away.

And even though Paper’s hand stayed clenched around the pillow in his lap instead of reaching out again, he still sat close enough to feel OJ’s warmth.

Close enough to pretend, just for tonight, that maybe he wasn’t the only one in love.

Chapter Text

The rest of the night was... quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet they used to share. This one was stiff, heavy, loaded with things neither of them could bring themselves to say.

Bomb left early, muttering something about it getting boring. Knife stuck around a little longer, hanging out with Pickle in the kitchen, but even they didn’t try to break the weird silence settling over the house.

Paper and OJ eventually drifted to the door together. Neither spoke as they stood awkwardly on Pickle’s porch, the cool night air prickling at their skin.

Finally, after what felt like forever, OJ cleared his throat.

“Do you want a ride home?” he offered, his voice cracking slightly.

Paper hesitated. His heart twisted painfully, remembering the way OJ had almost, almost, said something inside. “Sure,” he said, too quickly.

OJ glanced toward the driveway like it might save him.

Inside the house, something gnawed at Paper. If OJ was too scared to bring it up again, maybe... maybe he could. One conversation shouldn’t ruin everything, right?

He shifted awkwardly. “So… remember earlier? How we were talking about things feeling different?”

OJ froze. He gave a jerky nod but didn’t look at him.

“What do you think changed?” Paper asked quietly. “You said it wasn’t important, but…” He smiled faintly, sad and hopeful all at once. “Something on your face tells me it was important.”

OJ’s chest tightened.

“Should I lie?”

“Would it be easier?”

Before he could answer, headlights washed over the driveway.

“My mom’s here,” he blurted, like it was a life raft. Without thinking, he grabbed Paper’s wrist and dragged him toward the car.

Paper stumbled after him, biting down all the words he wanted to say.

The car ride was silent. Paper stared out the window, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his pants. His mind whirled with everything that hadn’t been said.

OJ gripped the seatbelt so tightly his knuckles went white, his heart hammering against his ribs, terrified of the weight between them he didn’t know how to name.

———

[pickleplays has created a group chat.]

[pickleplays updated the name to: The Three Musketeers]

mrknifeguy [12:41 A.M.]
What is this group chat name.

pickleplays [12:42 A.M.]
I had to think of something idk. Anyway, I’m about to crash tf out.

imdabomb [12:42 A.M.]
??

mrknifeguy [12:43 A.M.]
Dude. YOU interrupted them. Stupid.

pickleplays [12:43 A.M.]
OH MY GOD. I’m such an idiot.

mrknifeguy [12:43 A.M.]
I agree.

pickleplays [12:43 A.M.]
They were so close. SO CLOSE.

mrknifeguy [12:44 A.M.]
Can we talk about this tomorrow.
Go to bed.

pickleplays [12:44 A.M.]
How can I sleep??? I’ll be up all night knowing Payjay could’ve happened.

mrknifeguy [12:45 A.M.]
What the fuck is Payjay.

imdabomb [12:45 A.M.]
Payjay??

pickleplays [12:45 A.M.]
Uhm. Paper and OJ. Their ship name. Duh.

imdabomb [12:45 A.M.]
💀

mrknifeguy [12:46 A.M.]
You’re obsessed. Someone take his phone away.

pickleplays [12:46 A.M.]
Whatever. Goodnight. 🥀

imdabomb [12:46 A.M.]
Goodnight! 💤

mrknifeguy [12:46 A.M.]
Goodnight.

———

Pickle’s group chat finally went quiet.

Everyone turned off their phones, ready to crash.

Everyone except Paper and OJ.

Neither could stop thinking about what almost happened.

———

Paper didn’t even bother lying down. He sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, every app blurring together.

Nothing helped.

His chest felt too full, too tight.

“Why won’t he just say it? Why am I the only one willing to risk it?”

”Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm imagining it.”

He thought about texting OJ again.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

“Maybe I should ask?”

“No. I don't want to push him.”

Maybe it wasn’t about waiting for OJ to figure out how he felt. Maybe it was about figuring out for himself if he could survive not knowing.

Paper sighed, flopping back onto his bed. The ceiling stared down at him, silent and empty.

Every moment with OJ replayed in his head. Every laugh. Every almost-touch. Every glance that felt like it meant something more.

It wasn't just in his head.

It couldn't be.

Right?

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ache in his chest to go away long enough to fall asleep.

———

Across town, OJ was pacing his bedroom like a trapped animal, running his hands through his hair.

“Oh my god. I almost said it. I almost said it.”

The words spun in his skull like a broken record.

He hated himself for freezing.

He hated himself for still being scared.

You’re supposed to be perfect.

Straight-A student. Student council president. Polite. Focused. Reliable.

His parents expected nothing less.

And deep down, a terrible question he hated bubbled up:
Would being gay ruin that?

Even thinking it made his stomach twist with guilt and shame.

But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Paper.

Paper laughing.

Paper smiling.

Paper looking at him like he was the most important person in the world.

How could something so good feel so terrifying?

That wasn’t just friendship.

No matter how much he tried to lie to himself.

Maybe if he told him, it would get better.
Or maybe it would ruin everything.

OJ sat down by the window, pulling his knees to his chest. The moonlight spilled across the floor, cool and quiet, the only witness to his spiraling heart.

He rested his forehead against the glass and closed his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he wished he could stop being perfect and just be brave.

———

The morning came way too fast.

Paper hadn’t slept much; he could feel it in the heaviness behind his eyes. The sick twist in his stomach hadn’t gone away either.

School didn’t help.

Everything looked normal on the outside. Kids talking in the hallways. Teachers getting ready for first period.

But for Paper, the world felt tilted, like everything was just a little bit off-center.

He was halfway to his locker when he heard footsteps catch up behind him.

“Oh. Great,” Paper muttered under his breath, spotting Knife out of the corner of his eye.

“Morning, sunshine,” Knife said, smirking like he knew something Paper didn’t.

Paper scowled. “What do you want?”

Knife leaned against the lockers casually. “Pickle was blowing up my phone complaining about ruining the ‘moment’ between you and OJ.”

Paper’s face heated up immediately. “It wasn't—we weren't—shut up.”

Knife snorted. “You're lucky you're cute, because you're dumb as hell.”

Paper glared at him.

Knife shrugged. “Okay, but seriously, let me just tell you now, you guys are obviously into each other.”

Paper blinked. “You think he’s into me?”

“Oh my god,” Knife said, dramatically throwing his head back. “How oblivious are you? Do you not see all the signs?”

Paper thought about it, and yeah, the more he thought about it… it was pretty obvious.

“Well, if he likes me, then why won’t he just say it?” Paper muttered.

“Look,” Knife continued, voice low, “if you want something to happen, you gotta stop waiting around for it. OJ’s a wimp. He’s not gonna do it first.”

Paper opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because… maybe Knife wasn’t wrong.

Knife shoved off the lockers. “Anyway. Good luck with your little ‘slow burn romance’ or whatever the hell this is.” He walked off before Paper could respond.

Paper just stood there, arms crossed tightly over his chest, trying to stop his heart from beating so loudly.

———

Meanwhile, across campus, OJ sat slumped in the middle of the art hallway.

Paintbrush dropped right next to him, their backpack thudding onto the ground.

“Okay,” Paintbrush said bluntly, “spill. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

OJ sighed, picking at a string of fabric of his sleeve. “It’s stupid.”

“Everything you stress about is stupid. Tell me anyway.”

OJ hesitated. He trusted Paintbrush. They weren’t the type to judge, at least not in the ways that mattered.

“It’s Paper,” he mumbled finally.

Paintbrush’s face lit up like a light switch. “Oooohh.”

“Don’t make it weird,” OJ said quickly, face flushing.

“I’m not. I'm just glad you’re finally admitting it’s about him,” Paintbrush said, leaning forward. “So what happened?”

OJ stared at his food. “I almost said something last night. And then I didn’t. And now it’s... weird.”

Paintbrush nodded like this made perfect sense. “Weird how?”

OJ twisted his hands together. “Like he knows I was gonna say something. And now he’s waiting. And I’m… I don’t know. Scared?”

Paintbrush softened. “Scared of what?”

OJ swallowed hard.
Everything.

“Of screwing it up,” he said. “Of ruining what we have. Of... what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Paintbrush was quiet for a second, then said, “What if he does, and you’re just wasting time being scared?”

OJ stared at them. That thought, that possibility, was almost too big to hold.

Paintbrush smiled slightly. “Just think about it.”

They stood up, slinging their backpack over their shoulder. “See you in class, lover boy.”

OJ groaned and buried his face in his hands.

———

The bell rang.

First period started.

But neither Paper nor OJ could focus.

Their eyes kept drifting and searching for each other without meaning to.

Still afraid.

Still hoping.

Still stuck.

At one point, Paper glanced up and caught OJ already looking at him.

For a second, neither of them moved.

It was just the two of them in the middle of the noise, the fluorescent lights, the scribbling of pencils, and low chatter.

And then, just as quickly, OJ dropped his gaze to his notebook, pretending to be busy.
Paper swallowed thickly and turned back to his own desk.

Neither of them said anything.

Neither of them knew how.

But the feeling between them, it didn’t go away.

If anything, it just kept getting stronger.

Chapter Text

The rest of the school day was awkward.
Paper and OJ were kind of… avoiding each other.

What started as a day of silence stretched into a week. Then another. By the second week, it felt like they were pretending the other didn’t exist.

In six years of friendship, they’d never gone more than a day without talking. Not even when they fought. Not even when Paper went on that eighth-grade trip to Florida, got food poisoning, and texted OJ nonstop at the ER.

But now?

Two whole weeks.

No calls. No hangouts. Just silence.

Paper tried. A few check-in texts. A dumb TikTok he knew OJ would laugh at. A simple “u okay?” with a dumb frog emoji.

OJ read every single one.

He just… couldn’t answer. Not yet.

He’d stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, heart clenched in his throat, then lock the phone and shove it back in his pocket. It felt easier that way. Easier to avoid than to mess things up even more.

The friend group noticed. Of course they did.

Bomb kept playing a fake sad violin whenever they sat too far apart at lunch. Pickle was halfway through planning a team-building sleepover until Knife told them it would be better if they figured it out on their own.

Maybe Knife was right.

Maybe space was what they needed.

Or maybe time was the thing killing them.

Because Paper felt himself fading. He still loved OJ, of course he did. But after all this? After being brushed off like it was all some joke?

That love felt less like a fire and more like an echo. Quiet. Tired. Small.

OJ didn’t know what to do anymore. He hated this silence, hated walking past Paper in the halls, pretending his chest didn’t tighten every single time. But the idea of confronting it all scared him even more.

So he avoided him.

And hoped it would go away.

But it didn’t.

———

It was the last class of the day. The final bell rang. Lockers slammed. Voices bounced down the halls. Sneakers squeaked all over the floor.

Paper pulled out his phone and sighed. Neither of his parents could pick him up. Classic.

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he headed toward his locker, fully prepared to brave the cold walk home alone.

Until he turned the corner and saw OJ standing there.

Scrolling through his phone, eyes narrowed, shoulders drawn up like he was carrying too much.

Paper froze.

OJ looked… tired. Like someone who hadn’t smiled in a while. Like someone who’d been doing too much pretending.

Paper bit the inside of his cheek.

Should I talk to him?

His heart answered before his brain could stop it.

He missed OJ. He missed him so much it hurt.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

OJ looked up. Their eyes met. And just like that, the hallway felt ten degrees warmer.
and a hundred times heavier.

There was no escaping now. OJ had to say something. Anything.

“Hey,” he said back, awkwardly scratching his neck. “I thought you left already.”

Paper shrugged. “Nah. Niether of my parents can pick me up, so I’m walking.”

“In this weather?” OJ glanced toward the window. Grey skies. Damp sidewalks.

Paper gave a dry chuckle. “Yeah. It’s gross out. But, you know. What else am I gonna do?”

It sounded like a joke. But it didn’t feel like one.

OJ looked at him, really looked. At the dark circles under his eyes, the way his jacket hung just a little too loose, and the way his voice seemed quieter.

Had he always looked this tired?

OJ’s chest ached.

Was this because of him?

“I could—” OJ started, hesitated, then tried again. “I mean… can I walk with you? If that’s okay.”

Paper blinked. “YES.”

His face flushed immediately as he slapped a hand over his mouth. “I mean… sure. If you want.”

OJ laughed. Actually laughed. It startled both of them.

“I do,” he said, softer now.

Paper turned to his locker, shoving books inside with careful slowness. OJ stood beside him, not quite smiling but not frowning either.

When Paper shut the locker with a quiet click, he nodded. “Ready.”

And just like that, they walked out, into the cold, into the rain, into whatever came next.

———

The walk was quiet. Wet. Their shoes soaked through almost instantly, and the sidewalk splashed up onto their pants. Neither of them made a move to break the silence.

They glanced at each other occasionally, but mostly they just stared ahead. Both trying to pretend they weren’t itching to say something.

Then it started drizzling.

Paper giggled, just a little. That kind of spontaneous laugh that caught on the edge of memory.

OJ glanced over. “What’s so funny?”

Paper smiled. “Remember that one time it rained like this? We stopped in front of that huge puddle, and you offered me your coat to cover my head… And then a car drove by and absolutely soaked us anyway?”

OJ laughed, caught off guard by the memory. “Oh my god. That was brutal.”

They laughed together. It felt like oxygen.

But it didn’t last long.

Silence crept back in. Heavy again. Uneasy.

Then Paper asked, voice soft, “Didn’t you miss this?”

OJ blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean… We went two weeks without talking. Two weeks. We used to text every day.”

He looked at OJ, really looked, hoping for some kind of answer. OJ stared ahead, unsure.

Finally, he mumbled, “Things have just been… rough. You know. Family stuff. Student council…”

“You’re lying,” Paper said, quiet but firm.

“What? Paper—”

“Every time you lie, you mess with your hands.”

OJ froze. Of course Paper noticed; Paper always noticed everything. Even the dumb things.

“Well, it’s just—”

“What’s really going on? Are you mad at me?”

OJ took a breath. He wanted to say, “No, I love you, and it’s terrifying.” But his throat locked up.

Paintbrush had told him to just be honest. But standing here, heart racing, hands in his pockets, he felt like a coward.

“I’m not mad,” he said, looking down. “It’s just… complicated.”

Paper’s voice cracked a little. “OJ, why are you so scared right now? It’s not like you’re gonna confess your undying love for me.”

They both froze.

Paper hadn’t meant to say that. Not really. The hope had already left him, so what was he doing?

OJ froze too.

Because that was exactly what he wanted to do.

He looked away. “Well, uh…”

Paper’s heart leapt. Was this it? Was Knife right? Was OJ actually going to say something?

“That’d be crazy, right?” OJ laughed nervously.

Paper laughed too. But it was hollow. “Yeah. Crazy.”

“I’m stupid for thinking this was it,” he thought.

The silence that followed felt worse than before.

Finally, Paper spoke. “You know you’re my best friend, right? You can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“So… what’s up?”

OJ wanted to tell him everything. The feelings. The fear. The way every quiet moment had been filled with thoughts of him.

But instead, he lied. Again.

“Just don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay.”

Paper’s shoulders dropped. Not in relief, just quiet disappointment.

“Alright. Whatever you say. But I don’t want this weird tension between us anymore.”

OJ didn’t respond.

He just kept walking.

Paper followed, both of them soaking wet, hearts heavier than the sky above.

———

By the time they reached Paper’s house, the drizzle had turned into a steady rain. The porch light was already on, flickering like it was struggling to stay awake.

They stopped at the bottom of the steps.

Paper hesitated, then turned to him. “So… you promise we’re okay?”

OJ blinked. He looked at the wet sidewalk. Then at Paper’s shoes. Then at the porch light. Anywhere but Paper’s face.

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to say, of course, and I missed you every single day.

Instead, he nodded. Too small. Too stiff.

Paper waited a second. Maybe two. Then sighed, soft, tired. “I’m expecting a text tomorrow morning.”

OJ’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I’m not doing two weeks of silence again,” Paper said. “You don’t have to say anything deep or emotional or life-changing. But you will text me. Even if it’s just some stupid emoji. Got it?”

OJ opened his mouth like he wanted to argue.

But then he looked at Paper, so earnest, so tired of being the one who always reached first.

“…Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll text you.”

Paper smiled. Not big. Not dramatic. Just a small curve of his lips, like a bruise that finally stopped hurting.

“Good.”

He turned and jogged up the steps, pausing at the door.

Then he looked back over his shoulder. “Night, OJ.”

OJ raised a hand, his fingers stiff from the cold. “Night.”

The door closed behind him, and OJ stood there a moment longer, rain soaking into his jacket, heart heavier than ever.

Then his phone buzzed.

One new message.

From Paper.

A frog emoji.

Chapter Text

OJ walked home alone in the pouring, cold, miserable rain. Fog hung thick in the air, and the streetlights blurred like smudges of gold in the distance. His hood had slipped halfway off, clinging to one ear like it had given up too. He didn’t bother fixing it.

By the time he made it back to his room, his clothes were half-drenched and the sky was only just beginning to dim. It wasn’t even 5 p.m., and all he wanted to do was hide. He changed into pajamas, climbed into bed, and laid there for over an hour, just staring at the last message Paper had sent him.

A stupid frog emoji.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. But to OJ, it meant everything. It was a sign that Paper wasn’t done with him. That maybe, somehow, he hadn’t completely screwed everything up. Still, replying felt like the heaviest thing in the world.

With a sigh, he opened his contacts and called Paintbrush.

They picked up after barely a ring. “Hello?”

“Hey… I need your help.”

Paintbrush exhaled. “What’d you do this time?”

OJ rolled onto his back and told the whole story: offering to walk Paper home, lying about how he really felt, and freezing up at the door. And now Paper was just asking for a message, just one, and OJ still hadn’t sent it.

“And I’m just… scared,” he admitted at the end.

Paintbrush paused. “OJ. Calm down. Just send him some dumb emoji tomorrow. Then you’ll be fine.”

“It’s not that,” OJ mumbled. “It’s just—I don’t know if it’ll work. What if I already ruined everything? What if this message just… reminds him how quiet I was? How I couldn’t even look him in the eye.”

Paintbrush’s voice softened. “Do you love him?”

OJ hesitated. “Love? I don’t—”

“Don’t even lie,” they cut in. “It’s obvious. You care about him. And he cares about you. He’s literally waiting for anything. One message.”

There was a beat, then Paintbrush added, “Want to hear a dumb story?”

“Sure,” OJ said quietly.

“Okay. So, there was this one time Lightbulb and I got into a fight. I don’t even remember what it was about, something dumb, like she was late for our plans or spilled soda on my sketchbook. We didn’t talk for, like, a month?”

OJ raised an eyebrow. “A month?!”

“Let me finish.” Paintbrush continued, “We were both being stubborn. She kept trying to fix it by texting me dumb puns. Like, actual knock-knock jokes. And I kept ignoring her. I was mad. Then one night I came home, and she’d left this shoebox on my porch. Inside was this homemade lamp, like, a real desk lamp she glued googly eyes onto, and taped to it was a note that said, “Please don’t unplug me from your life’.”

OJ groaned. “That’s awful.”

“I know,” Paintbrush said, laughing. “It was so cringey. But it worked. I texted her five minutes later, and we stayed on the phone all night. The point is, people mess up. But if they want to fix it, and if you want to fix it… then it’s not over.”

OJ was quiet. Listening.

“You’ve known Paper for years,” Paintbrush said gently. “He’s your best friend. You really want to lose all that over not sending one text?”

“No,” OJ said quickly. “I don’t.”

“Then send it tomorrow. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just let him know you’re there.”

OJ smiled, even if Paintbrush couldn’t see it. “Thanks. And… sorry. I know I’m always coming to you for advice about, well, this.”

“Oh, this isn’t free,” Paintbrush replied dryly. “I expect at least a bag of Nerds Gummy Clusters out of this.”

OJ snorted. “Deal.”

They both laughed, and when they hung up, for the first time in days… OJ didn’t feel completely stuck.

———

Paper lay curled up in bed, texting Pickle about everything that had just happened.

justpaper [7:49 P.M.]

so… do you think I’m asking for too much?? 😥

pickleplays [7:50 P.M.]

paper u literally just asked for a text.

trust me, ure fine.

it’s not like u asked him to marry you

...well maybe you should’ve

justpaper [7:52 P.M.]

not the time 😞

anyways what if he just completely disregards what I said, and I’m just wasting my time waiting again?

pickleplays [7:53 P.M.]

well then that’s on him not u

but knowing OJ he’ll definitely send a text tomorrow trust 🙏

justpaper [7:55 P.M.]

okay well I’ll take ur word for it

pickleplays [7:56 P.M.]

just please don’t give up I need payjay to happen 💔

justpaper [7:57 P.M.]

???

what is payjay 😣

pickleplays [7:58 P.M.]

the ship name for you and OJ…

isn’t it so creative?!

i made it myself 😁

justpaper [8:00 P.M.]

oh my god you’re so annoying

Paper shut his phone and dropped it onto the bed. The room was quiet, too quiet. He stared at the ceiling, blinking hard. His hands were cold, curled tight in the sleeves of his hoodie. The soft hum of the house settled around him like a blanket he didn’t want.

He could still hear OJ laughing with him at lunch two weeks ago. Still see the way OJ’s smile faltered when he said goodbye at the door.

It made his chest ache.

Maybe it was stupid to hope. Maybe he was just setting himself up again.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“Please,” he said to the ceiling, to the dark, to no one. “Please send a message.”

———

Morning came, and OJ had woken up extra early.

“All he wants is one text. Anything,” he muttered to himself, pacing across his room.

Why was this so hard?

He finally grabbed his phone from where it had been charging and opened Paper’s contact. He started typing.

hey

He deleted it.

what’s up?

Deleted.

“Stop making this scarier than it needs to be,” he whispered.

He started typing again.

good morning 🐸

He stared at it. Just stared. Then finally, he hit send.

He threw his phone onto his desk and went to get ready for school.

——— 

When he finished getting ready, he immediately texted Paintbrush.

itsmeoj [7:00 A.M.]

soo… I sent him a message

pbpaintz [7:01 A.M.]

See?? It wasn’t that bad.

You did it and you didn’t die!!

itsmeoj [7:02 A.M.]

shut up 😒

pbpaintz [7:02 A.M.]

Okayyy but srs good job. I’m proud of you. 👍

itsmeoj [7:04 A.M.]

so now what? What do I do when I see him in person.

pbpaintz [7:05 A.M.]

just be normal.

anyways I need to finish getting ready b4 I’m late.

See u later, lover boy. ✌️💗

OJ rolled his eyes and turned off his phone as he headed downstairs for a quick breakfast before school.

———

Paper woke up later than he meant to, but his first thought wasn’t about being late.

“Please let there be a message.”

He checked his phone. His breath caught in his chest when he saw the new notification.

itsmeoj [6:45 A.M.]

good morning 🐸

His face lit up. He couldn’t believe it. OJ didn’t want to lose this. He remembered.

Paper quickly typed a reply, glancing at the time.

justpaper [7:30 A.M.]

you did it!!

good morning :))

im running late today. probably won’t be in homeroom 💔

He set the phone down and rushed to get ready, heart light for the first time in days.

He couldn’t wait to see OJ at school.

Chapter Text

The school day dragged more than usual. Probably because OJ spent every second of it wondering when Paper would show up.

They didn’t share many classes, just two in the morning and one at the end of the day. The rest of the time, all OJ got were passing glimpses in the hallways.

But even those felt off.

Every time he saw Paper, he was either looking down, in a conversation with someone else, or already halfway down the next hallway like he was racing the clock.

OJ knew it wasn’t on purpose. Still, he never even got to say hi.

Not until lunch.

As soon as the bell rang, OJ rushed to the cafeteria and waited just outside the doors. He checked the time. Waited. Five minutes passed. He was about to give up when—

“Hey.”

OJ turned. And there he was, Paper.

“Oh, hey!” he said a little too quickly, trying to play it off like he hadn’t been waiting all day.

For the first time in what felt like forever, their eyes met.

“I got your message this morning,” Paper said, voice soft.

“I hoped you did.”

“It made my morning.” Paper smiled, just a little. The kind of smile that made something in OJ’s chest loosen.

They stood there for a second, quiet.

Then Paper glanced toward the usual lunch table. Then back at OJ. “Wanna sit outside today?”

OJ didn’t even hesitate. “Sure. I mean… we’ve got two weeks to catch up on.”

And just like that, Paper reached for his hand and led him toward the courtyard.

The second their fingers touched, something flipped in OJ’s stomach. That feeling, the one he thought he’d finally shaken, came rushing back.

———

Outside, they found the old blue bench near the edge of the courtyard. It was chipped and sun-bleached from too many summers. Somehow, it was still theirs.

They sat in silence at first. Not tense, just… unfamiliar. They hadn’t done this in a while.

OJ spoke first. “So… why the frog emoji? Was it just a joke, or…?”

Paper looked over, a little sheepish. “It’s stupid.”

“I love stupid,” OJ said, nudging him gently.

Paper blushed. “Okay, well… frogs go through a lot of changes, right? They’re messy and weird and all over the place, but they come out okay in the end. And I guess… it made me think of us. What we’re going through right now.”

OJ blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “Okay. Yeah, that is stupid.”

“Hey!” Paper nudged him back. “You said you love stupid!”

“I do! It’s a cute kind of stupid.”

They laughed, real laughter. The kind they hadn’t shared in weeks. But it faded again, softer now.

OJ’s voice dropped. “I almost didn’t send anything.”

Paper looked at him. “Why?”

“I thought I already ruined everything,” OJ admitted. “One message didn’t feel like enough to fix what happened. But… I’m glad I sent it. I really missed you.”

There was a beat of quiet.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Paper said. “Sometimes friends need a break. Maybe we did. But yeah… I’m glad we’re back now.”

He smiled again, smaller this time, but real.

“Besides,” he added, “you know way too much about me. I can’t get rid of you.”

OJ laughed, more relaxed now. “Guess I’m stuck with you too.”

The moment hung between them. Soft. Uncertain. Familiar.

Then Paper asked, “What are you doing after school?”

OJ thought. “Test Tube and I are working on that physics project in the library. You can come, if you want.”

Paper perked up just a little. “I’ll go. Even if we just sit there in silence, it’s better than avoiding each other.”

OJ nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

———

Inside the lunchroom, Pickle, Bomb, and Knife sat at their usual table, minus two key members.

“You think they’re coming today?” Pickle asked, eyes flicking to the empty seats.

Knife shrugged. “Doubt it.”

Just then, Paintbrush and Lightbulb walked up. “Anyone sitting here?” Paintbrush asked.

Pickle sighed and shook his head. “Not today. I have no idea where they went.”

Paintbrush sat down. Lightbulb flopped in beside them.

There was a short pause.

Then Lightbulb gasped. “Guys! Look outside!”

Everyone turned to the window.

Sure enough, Paper and OJ were sitting together on that old blue bench.

Pickle nearly squealed. “Oh my gosh. It’s happening.”

Paintbrush squinted. “I don’t think so. They haven’t talked in two weeks. This is just the warm-up.”

Lightbulb grinned. “I bet they confess in, like, a week.”

Wait. Were they making bets now?

It was on.

Knife leaned in. “Two weeks. Five bucks.”

Pickle raised a brow. “We’re betting money now? Okay. Five days. They hold hands. They almost confess. Ten dollars.”

“I-I say t-tomorrow!” Bomb added brightly.

The table turned to stare at him.

“What?! A man can dream,” Bomb huffed.

Paintbrush groaned. “Guys, this isn’t a game.”

Lightbulb smirked. “And here comes the fun police.”

Paintbrush rolled their eyes. “Fine. I’ll play. End of the week. Hand-holding at most. But I’m not betting actual money.”

Knife tossed a crumpled napkin at them. “Lame.”

Paintbrush caught it with a blank stare. “Okay, fine. Five dollars.”

“T-That’s more like it!” Bomb grinned.

“Wait,” Lightbulb said. “How do we know who wins? Like, how do we measure romantic tension?”

Pickle lit up. “Easy. Another hangout. At my place. Like movie night!”

“No,” Paintbrush and Knife said at the same time.

“First of all,” Knife said, “you already did that. Second, it backfired.”

“We need something less obvious,” Paintbrush added. “Somewhere that doesn’t scream ‘we want you to fall in love.’”

Everyone went quiet, thinking.

Then—

“The mall?” Lightbulb said.

They all paused.

“…That could work,” Paintbrush admitted. “It’s public, noisy, and chaotic. If we split up into small groups, it won’t seem like a setup.”

“Yes! Genius!” Pickle said, smacking the table.

“Saturday? Two o’clock?”

Everyone nodded.

“Perfect. Operation: Make Payjay Real is officially a go.”

Knife groaned. “We are not calling it that.”

“I already did. Deal with it,” Pickle said proudly.

Paintbrush ignored them. “We ask OJ first. If he says yes, we wait a day. Then Pickle texts Paper. Keeps it casual.”

“Ooooh, smart!” Lightbulb beamed.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” Pickle whispered. “This is going to work. I feel it.”

The group spent the rest of lunch hammering out the details: who would pretend to bump into whom, who would accidentally get lost, and exactly how many people would pretend not to notice if Paper and OJ held hands again.

Operation: Make Payjay Real (whether they liked the name or not) had officially begun.

———

The library was quiet, as always. OJ sat at a table with his notebook open, but he wasn’t focused on his notes. His eyes kept flicking to the door, hoping Paper would show.

Finally, a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Hey!”

OJ looked up and felt immediate relief. He sat up a little straighter, trying to act like he hadn’t been anxiously waiting.

“You made it!” he said, a little too happily.

Test Tube, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow.

OJ blinked, realizing he hadn’t warned her. “Oh, sorry. I should’ve told you. Paper wanted to come by and help out. That cool?”

She paused for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah, I don’t mind.”

Paper pulled up a chair, sitting right next to OJ instead of across from him. Their shoulders were nearly touching.

He peered at OJ’s notebook and smirked. Blank.

“Seriously? I came ten minutes late, and you still have nothing written down?”

OJ shot him a grin. “Maybe because I was too busy thinking about you.”

“That is so cringey,” Paper said, laughing as he lightly shoved OJ’s shoulder.

“And you so liked it. You’re smiling!”

“Am not!”

They both laughed, that kind of effortless, infectious laughter only people who knew each other too well could share.

Test Tube glanced up from her book. “OJ?”

He looked over, trying not to seem too flustered. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to interrupt your little moment, but whenever you get a chance, just send me what you find for the project.”

“Right, of course,” he nodded.

Test Tube returned to her book… and immediately pulled out her phone.

test._.tube [3:32 PM]

Are Paper and OJ dating now?

He just showed up to our session, sat next to him, and they started flirting out of nowhere.

If they aren’t together, they’re getting there fast.

pbpaintz [3:35 PM]

Not dating.

Yet.

Also wait. flirting??

They haven’t talked in two weeks. I figured they’d need more time.

test._.tube [3:40 PM]

Well, they’re making me nauseous.

They’re making faces at each other and giggling like twelve-year-olds.

pbpaintz [3:42 PM]

We’re trying to set them up on Saturday.

I’ll keep you posted.

test._.tube [3:44 PM]

Please do.

Fan would love to hear about this too, by the way.

She put her phone away and glanced up again. Across the table, Paper was leaning in to OJ’s notes.

“Okay, but wait,” he said, “why is your acceleration value in scientific notation?”

“Because I actually pay attention in class,” OJ replied smugly. “Unlike someone I know.”

Paper gasped. “Excuse me, I pay attention! I just… choose not to retain the boring stuff.”

“So, basically everything?”

Another shared laugh. Another soft look.

Test Tube closed her book with a snap. “I’ve got to head home. Just try to finish your section and send it over tonight.”

“Got it!” OJ said, giving her a thumbs up.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Have a good rest of your day. Don’t forget to send me what you have!”

“Promise!” he called as she walked off.

Paper peeked at OJ’s notebook and chuckled. “You’re not even halfway done.”

“Oh, shut up,” OJ muttered, rolling his eyes. “I can finish it tonight.”

They packed up their things and headed out the front doors. Neither felt like walking today, so they stood together near the curb, waiting on their rides.

OJ’s phone buzzed, a text from Paintbrush, sent an hour ago.

pbpaintz [2:46 PM]

hey wanna hang out at the mall. saturday at two? i’m bored.

OJ quickly replied:

itsmeoj [3:52 PM]

anybody else going?

pbpaintz [3:54 PM]

yeah couple of others.

OJ slipped his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t feel like diving into that yet.

He turned to Paper. “Today was fun.”

“Yeah, it really was. Thank you, OJ,” Paper said, softer this time.

OJ tilted his head. “Thank you? For what?”

Paper hesitated. “For not leaving me. You know I lo—” He stopped. “You’re my best friend. You mean a lot to me.”

He nudged OJ gently.

“You too,” OJ replied, smiling.

They held that look between them, something unspoken flickering in their eyes.

A car horn broke the moment. Paper’s ride.

“That’s me,” he said, standing. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yup. Tomorrow.”

Paper waved as he jogged to the car and climbed in.

OJ stayed put, watching him go. Watching until the car disappeared down the street.

And then, quietly, in his own head:

I love him. I really do.

He wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

But maybe, for now, that was enough.

The thought wasn’t new, but this time, it didn’t crash into OJ like a wave.

It settled.

Warm. Real. Unavoidable.

He stood there for a few more seconds, the wind brushing past, the late afternoon sun dipping lower in the sky. Then he reached for his phone again. Opened his texts with Paintbrush. Hovered over the message.

And for once, didn’t overthink it.

itsmeoj [3:58 PM]

count me in for saturday.

Chapter Text

That night, when Paper finally got home, he dropped his backpack by the door, kicked off his shoes, and flopped face-first onto his bed.

The silence of his room wrapped around him like a blanket, too quiet, too familiar. Still, it felt better than before. Things with OJ were going better than he expected. Almost suspiciously so. They were talking again. Laughing, even. And for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel strained.

Still, that two-week silence clung to him like fog. He didn’t understand why they’d stopped talking in the first place. That had never been them. If there was ever a problem, they faced it head-on, usually with too many words and not enough subtlety.

But this?

This was different.

Paper rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, arms flopped limply at his sides. The dull hum of his heater filled the room. He sighed, grabbed his phone off the nightstand, and flipped it on.

The screen lit up with a wall of unread messages: group chats, random TikToks from Lightbulb, and a half-finished convo with Knife he didn’t feel like reopening. His thumb paused on one from Pickle.

pickleplayz [7:46 P.M.]
heyyy wanna go to the mall Saturday at like 2? srry for the short notice 😣

Paper blinked at it, reading it once. Then again.

This was probably another setup.

Not that Pickle was subtle about these things. But Paper didn’t mind. Lately, he’d stopped pretending to be annoyed. He kind of... hoped it was a setup.

He kind of wanted it to be.

He typed back.

justpaper [7:47 P.M.]
sure why not :P

also username change?

pickleplayz [7:47 P.M.]
I just replaced the s with a z but isnt it like ten times cooler than before 🌚

justpaper [7:48 P.M.]
yes it’s very cool LOL

Will anyone else be there Saturday? Our usual group?

He asked it like he didn’t already know. Like he wasn’t only sending that text to find out if OJ would be there.

Part of him wanted it to be casual. Just friends. No pressure.

But another part of him, much louder lately, wanted this to be something more. Maybe this would be the day he finally said something. Maybe OJ would first.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

A minute passed. Then another.

Pickle was taking too long. Paper stared at the three little bubbles dancing on the screen. Then they disappeared.

justpaper [7:51 P.M.]
U still there?

pickleplayz [7:51 P.M.]
srry yeah it’s our usual group plus Paintbrush and Lightbulb

Oh and OJ might be there too

justpaper [7:52 P.M.]
might??

pickleplayz [7:52 P.M.]
well… yeah he’ll be there LOL

Paper dropped his phone onto the mattress and let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. Of course OJ was going. Of course this was all carefully arranged. Pickle wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore.

And it wasn’t like Paper didn’t appreciate it.

He did.

He just hated the part of himself that was so hopelessly hung up on someone who probably didn’t feel the same way. He hated that OJ could walk into a room and change his whole day with a glance. He hated how stupidly hopeful he still was.

He curled deeper into the blankets, staring out the bedroom window at the soft, navy sky.

Maybe he’d say something Saturday. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe OJ would finally stop holding back. Or maybe they'd keep orbiting each other like they always did, close enough to touch but never quite reaching.

Either way, he’d be there.

And so would OJ.

———

The next morning, Paper actually woke up with his alarm.

Not because he felt rested; he didn’t. But because he couldn’t stop thinking about what Pickle said.

OJ would be there.

That thought alone was enough to jolt him out of bed, drag him through a too-long shower, and get him to school earlier than he had in the past two weeks.

He used to show up early all the time. Quiet mornings, headphones in, watching the sun stretch across the hallway floors. But lately? He’d been rolling in halfway through first period, hair still damp from a rushed rinse, barely awake, barely present.

He just couldn’t find the energy to care.

But today… he did.

Why? He wasn’t even sure. Maybe he just wanted to see OJ. See how he looked when he walked in. If he smiled. If he paused at the sight of Paper already there.

He was looking for anything, any small flicker, that might be a sign OJ felt the same way he did.

Because tomorrow they would be at the mall. And maybe, maybe, something could actually change.

But he had to test it first. Had to look for the signs.

If he was wrong, he didn’t think he could survive the crash.

Homeroom was dead quiet when he arrived. No one else was there yet. Honestly perfect.

He dropped his bag beside his usual seat and sat down, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. Waiting.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Then—

The door creaked open.

OJ stepped in and froze, clearly surprised to see Paper already at his desk. His eyebrows lifted.

“You’re here early,” he said, walking toward his seat slowly, like he wasn’t sure what kind of morning this was yet.

Paper blinked and forced a casual shrug. “My dad was on me this morning about being late all the time. Figured I’d try showing up on time.”

OJ tilted his head. “But... you’re not with your dad this week, right?”

Caught. Paper looked to the side. “Well, yeah, but… I’ve still been late a lot.” He met OJ’s eyes again. “Just trying to fix that.”

OJ didn’t push it. Instead, he dropped into his seat with a soft breath, like he was weirdly… relieved.

“Did you also get invited to the mall tomorrow?” he asked after a second, shifting the conversation like he wanted to talk about anything except why Paper was here early.

Paper’s face brightened almost instantly. “Yeah. Pickle texted me about it last night.”

OJ nodded. “You going?”

Paper nodded back. “Definitely. I need to get out of the house. It’s been so quiet lately.” He paused, then added, “Lonely, I guess.”

OJ looked at him, something flickering in his expression. Sympathy? Guilt? Maybe both.

“I said yes too,” he said quietly.

Paper already knew that, but hearing it from OJ himself made him feel better. He didn’t even try to hide how relieved he looked.

It wasn’t about the mall. Not really.

It was about what might finally be said.

Because Paper couldn’t keep all of this inside much longer. Not when OJ looked at him like that, like maybe he felt it too.

He glanced over and caught OJ sneaking a look at him over his phone screen. They both looked away fast. Too fast.

A silence settled between them again, heavier than before.

More students started trickling in. Footsteps echoed down the hallway. And then—

“Woah,” came a voice from the doorway, too loud for this early in the morning. “Paper’s here early?”

Pickle.

He wandered in with a grin, holding a half-eaten muffin, and had way too much energy for before 8 a.m.

“Good morning to you too,” Paper muttered, rolling his eyes. He was always early before; why was everyone acting like this was shocking?

Still, part of him was glad for the interruption. That silence was starting to feel dangerous.

“Well, isn’t it nice?” OJ said, leaning back a little in his seat. “I missed Paper being here early.”

Paper glanced over. “Oh, really?”

OJ nodded, smiling a little. “Yeah. Whenever you’d get here before me, you always had this smile, like a ‘ha, I beat you’ kind of thing. It’s stupid. But… kinda cute.”

Paper’s heart did a little somersault.

“Cute?” he echoed, pretending to be skeptical, but his cheeks were definitely warmer now.

OJ looked away quickly. “Well… shut up. You know what I mean.”

The air shifted.

Their eyes met.

They weren’t smiling anymore, but they weren’t not smiling either. The space between them was quiet again, but this time, it was charged. Like the silence meant something.

Pickle stared at them from the row over, eating his muffin. Slowly. Dramatically.

Neither of them noticed.

They were still looking at each other. Neither one blinking. Neither one was brave enough, or maybe stupid enough, to say what they were actually thinking.

Pickle’s eyes widened a bit. His grin stretched wider.

Oh yeah. He was definitely calling the group later.

This was so much better than he expected.

———

That night, Pickle made a group chat with everyone who was going to the mall the next day.

Well, everyone except Paper and OJ.

He didn’t make it to chat. He made it to call.

Because there was urgent business to discuss: the definite, undeniable, painfully obvious flirting he had witnessed earlier in homeroom.

Pickle started a call in the group chat and waited, bouncing his leg, staring at the screen like the moment someone joined he was going to explode.

After about a minute, Paintbrush picked up. The video flickered on to reveal them in their bathroom, toothbrush halfway in their mouth, hair a mess.

“…What is this about?” They mumbled around the foam.

Pickle could barely contain himself, grinning way too hard. “Just wait. I’m spamming everybody to get on. You need the full audience for this.”

Paintbrush groaned and went back to brushing. “You better not have dragged me into this for something dumb again.”

“IT’S NOT DUMB!” Pickle whisper-shouted, as if he was trying not to wake someone in the next room. “Just trust me.”

One by one, everyone started joining.

Knife joined with a sigh. “Whatever this is, it better have been worth blowing up my phone. I was in the middle of a game.”

“Oh, trust me,” Pickle said, practically bouncing in place now. “It so is.”

Lightbulb popped on next, holding a bag of chips and already chewing. “This better be gossip,” she said through a full mouth. “If it’s not gossip, I’m hanging up.”

“Oh, it’s gossip,” Pickle confirmed, eyes gleaming. “You guys. You should have seen Paper and OJ in homeroom. It was, I'm not even joking, painful. Like, flirting so obvious I almost started clapping.”

Paintbrush spat into the sink and leaned off-camera. “No way. What did they say?”

“Yeah,” said Lightbulb, practically leaning into her screen. “How lovey-dovey was it? I want details. Don’t spare anything.”

Pickle reenacted the moment, doing his best impressions of OJ’s awkward blushing and Paper’s half-smiles. He even mimicked OJ calling Paper’s smile “cute” and Paper repeating it like it was the most shocking word in the universe.

By the time he finished, everyone was either laughing or groaning.

“Oh my god,” Paintbrush said. “I can hear how emotionally constipated they both are.

“It was like a slow-burn movie scene but real life,” Pickle said, throwing his hands up. “Like they were just sitting there in this romantic stare-off, and neither of them realized it.”

“S-so what do y-you think?” Bomb asked, eyes wide. “Do y-you think t-tomorrow’s the day?”

“I’d be shocked if it wasn’t,” Knife said without looking up, clearly distracted by something off-screen. “At this point, they’re basically already married.”

Lightbulb suddenly gasped. “Wait. Guys. This is serious.”

Paintbrush sat up straighter. “What?! Do I need to come over? Did something happen?”

Lightbulb held up a pair of sunglasses dramatically to the camera. “Do these look good on me? Should I wear them tomorrow?”

Paintbrush stared. “…Oh my god. Lightbulb. That is not serious. I thought something happened to you!”

Lightbulb didn’t blink. “This is serious! I’m trying to figure out if I look cool enough to witness a public love confession.”

“Let me see them again,” Pickle said, leaning into the camera. “Honestly? You look sick.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to stay on my good side,” Lightbulb said smugly, striking a dramatic pose with the sunglasses still on.

Everyone kept laughing and talking about outfits and what stores they wanted to hit—until:

“…Guys?” Paintbrush said suddenly, cutting in. Their voice dropped an octave. “OJ is calling me.”

Everything stopped.

“Wait—what?!” Bomb practically shouted.

“He’s what now?” Lightbulb yelled.

“OH MY GOD,” Pickle added, flailing with his phone. “TELL US WHAT HE SAYS. PUT IT ON SPEAKER—”

“Shhh!! I’ll be right back!” Paintbrush said, already leaving the call.

And just like that, they were gone.

Lightbulb slowly lowered her sunglasses. “You guys. We are so close to witnessing history.”

———

Paintbrush picked up the other line, brushing hair out of their face as they walked into their room.

“Hello?” they asked, slightly confused by the sudden call.

OJ’s voice came through, a little shaky, a little too fast. “Okay—I’m just going to say it. The other day, when Paper and I were hanging out… I had this moment. And I realized…”

He trailed off. Silence.

Paintbrush tilted their head, already sensing the emotional gears turning.

“You realized what?” they asked gently. “Come on, OJ.”

OJ hesitated. Saying it out loud would make it real. Real feelings, real consequences. And now that he was on the edge, his brain was doing that thing again, running through every worst-case scenario, every version where Paper laughed, or walked away, or just didn’t feel the same.

“I think…” he tried again, his voice catching in his throat.

Paintbrush waited. Then, not-so-patiently: “What? You think what? OJ?”

A beat. A breath.

“I think I’m going to tell him tomorrow,” OJ finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “I think I’m finally going to confess.”

Paintbrush’s eyes widened. Their hand slapped over their mouth to keep from shouting.

“Oh my god.”

OJ panicked instantly. “Wait—what? What does that mean? Is tomorrow a bad time? Should I not? Was that the wrong thing to do?”

Paintbrush nearly burst out laughing, trying to ease him. “No, no! God, no! Tomorrow’s perfect! You think you’re ready—so go for it!”

OJ didn’t answer right away, but the sound of his heavy breathing came through the phone loud and clear.

“Hey,” Paintbrush said softly, trying to ground him. “It’s going to go great, okay? I’ll make sure the group gives you guys space tomorrow. I’ve got you.”

OJ let out a long breath. “But what if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Paintbrush didn’t even pause. “He does. Trust me.”

There was a pause, then a quiet, “...How do you know?”

Paintbrush smiled. “I just do. I mean—he looks at you like he’s already halfway in love. You think we haven’t noticed?”

OJ stayed quiet, but something about the silence had shifted. Softer now. Hopeful.

“Don’t stress about making it perfect,” Paintbrush added. “I literally asked Lightbulb out during that school festival we all got forced into. It was hot, it was loud, and I was sweating through my shirt. It wasn’t perfect—but it was us, y’know? And that made it enough.”

OJ gave a small laugh. “Yeah. I get it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Paintbrush said. “Really.”

“I’m excited,” OJ admitted, and this time there was no panic in his voice. Just a quiet calm.

“I’m happy for you,” Paintbrush said warmly. “Now go get some sleep, alright? Big day tomorrow.”

“Thanks… for everything,” OJ said. “Really.”

“Of course,” Paintbrush replied, then ended the call.

They clicked back into the group call.

The moment their face popped back onto the screen, everyone exploded.

“WHAT DID HE SAY?” Lightbulb yelled, nearly knocking her phone over.

“DID HE FINALLY CONFESS?” Pickle screamed. “TELL US TELL US TELL US—”

Knife looked mildly interested. “If you say he called to ask what time the mall opens, I’m hanging up.”

Paintbrush blinked, calm as ever.

“He was just asking what the plan was for tomorrow,” they said smoothly.

A chorus of groans broke out.

“You’re lying,” Pickle accused, pointing at his screen like it would do something.

“Anyways,” Paintbrush continued, already crawling under their covers, “it’s late. Get some sleep.”

“Lame,” Pickle muttered. “Fine. Goodnight.”

One by one, the others mumbled their goodnights and dropped off the call.

Paintbrush smiled to themself before turning out the light.

Tomorrow was a big day.

Chapter Text

Saturday came quicker than expected.

Paper stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the edge of his sweater, fidgeting with his sleeves like it might make a difference. He’d already changed twice. This outfit felt… safe enough. Simple. Not try-hard. But still something he secretly hoped OJ might notice.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, staring down at his reflection like it held answers.

“Am I trying too hard?” he muttered. “...Am I doing this for nothing?”

His chest tightened at the thought.

Groaning, he flopped onto his bed, letting his phone slide out of his pocket and onto the blanket. He had time before he was going to the mall. Too much time. Time to sit here and spiral into oblivion.

So, naturally, he opened TikTok.

Couples. Everywhere. Couples doing little confession set-ups. Handmade signs. Flash mobs. Someone holding up a giant poster that said, “Will you go out with me?” while the other person gasped and cried and nodded. Every video made his stomach twist tighter.

God, he wanted that. He wanted it so bad. And not in the vague, “I want to be loved” way. In a very real, OJ-smiling-at-him, hand-brushing-his-way.

He threw his phone across the bed and ran a hand down his face.

“No. Nope. Can’t do this. I need advice. Real advice. Grounded advice.” 

Which is why, against every logical bone in his body, he scrolled past Pickle. Past Bomb. And called Knife.

Yes. Knife. Not Pickle.

Because if he called Pickle, he’d get rainbows, glitter, and “Follow your heart, Paper! Love wins!” And he’d cry before they even left for the mall.

No. He needed someone blunt. Someone honest. Someone who’d say, “Stop being pathetic and go for it.”

The line rang. Once. Twice. Three times. Then—

“Hello?” Knife’s voice came through, flat and suspicious.

“Hey…” Paper said cautiously.

A beat.

“What do you want?” Knife asked, blunt as ever.

Paper exhaled. Already regretting this. But committed. “Okay, listen. I was going to call Pickle, but... I think I need to hear from somebody who’s going to be honest. Like, brutally honest.”

Silence.

“Oh.” Knife finally replied. “So you want actual advice, not just someone screaming ‘It’s fate!’ and sending you heart emojis.”

Paper cracked a tiny smile. “Exactly.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Pickle’s support. He did. Really. But this... this wasn’t a prank or a scheme. This was real.

Knife sighed, the sound of him flopping back onto his bed carrying through the speaker. “Okay. What kind of emotional crisis are we having today?”

Paper sat up, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “Just... be honest. Do you think today’s going to... change something? Between me and OJ? Or am I just kidding myself?”

Knife didn’t even hesitate. “He keeps looking at you with that stupid face. I don’t think he can hold it in much longer.”

Paper blinked. “...Stupid face?”

“You know,” Knife said, dry as sandpaper. “That dumb soft look he gets when you’re not paying attention. Like a lovesick golden retriever.”

Paper choked on air. “Oh my god. Rude. But... also kind of flattering.”

“Good,” Knife said. “Now what’s the actual question?”

Paper sucked in a shaky breath. His fingers knotted into his sweater.

“...Do you think I should ask him out?”

There. Out loud. No take-backs.

The silence on the line felt heavier than it should.

Then Knife’s tone softened, just barely. “If you really want my advice... yeah. Go for it. But honestly?” He paused. “I’ve got a good feeling about today. I think... I think he’ll say something first. And if he doesn’t...”

Another pause.

“Pickle’s going to lose his mind.”

Paper snorted, dropping his head into his hand. “Yeah... yeah, you’re right.”

Knife hummed. “Either way? Something’s going to shift today. I just know it.”

For the first time that morning, Paper felt his chest lighten. Just a little. “...Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Knife muttered. “Go be disgusting. I’ll see you later.”

“Later.”

Paper hung up. He sat there for a second, staring at the screen, then flopped backwards onto his bed, hands over his face.

Maybe... maybe today was the day.

And maybe... he was finally ready.

———

OJ had shown up to Paintbrush’s house way too early.

He wasn’t scared. Not exactly. It wasn’t fear so much as... a full-body static buzz. Like his heartbeat had caffeine. It was like his stomach was a soda can someone had shaken for two hours straight.

Today was the day. He was finally, finally, going to ask out the person he’d had a crush on since seventh grade.

Assuming he didn’t pass out first.

Currently, that involved pacing endless circles around Paintbrush’s room while they lay on their bed with a face mask on, watching him spiral like it was free entertainment.

“Dude,” Paintbrush said, glancing up. “We don’t leave for another three hours. Sit. Down. You’re making me dizzy.”

“I can’t sit down,” OJ snapped, nearly tripping over his own shoes. “I’m nervous. Excited. Nervous-excited. I think I’m going to throw up. Is it hot in here? It’s definitely hot in here.”

“You’re literally sweating,” Paintbrush deadpanned.

“I know!!”

Paintbrush rolled their eyes, stood up, and shoved OJ backward until he flopped onto the bed like a ragdoll.

“Sit. Down. You’re banned from pacing.”

OJ stared at the ceiling, arms flopped out like a cartoon corpse. “I can’t do this.”

“You can and you will,” Paintbrush said, rummaging through their drawer. A second later, they tossed him a snack-sized bag of gummy bears. “Here. Eat sugar. It helps.”

OJ sat up, looking at the gummy bears like they might explode. “This feels like a terrible idea.”

“No, it feels like vulnerability,” Paintbrush corrected, sitting beside him. “Which, in your case, is rare. And overdue.”

OJ popped a gummy bear into his mouth with the energy of someone eating a death pill. “What if I mess it up?”

“Then you mess it up,” Paintbrush shrugged. “Obsess over it for a week, then try again. Like you always do.”

OJ groaned. “So comforting.”

“Hey. You’ve got this,” Paintbrush said, voice softening. “For real. And no matter what happens? You’re not alone.”

OJ blinked at them, the panic loosening in his chest. Just a little.

“...Thanks.”

Paintbrush nudged him. “Anytime. Now, seriously. Stop pacing. I’m taking a nap before we leave.”

OJ lifted a gummy bear in solemn salute. “No promises.”

Paintbrush pulled the blanket over their head. “Suffer in silence.”

Somewhere, beneath all the chaos in his brain, OJ could feel it, that fragile, weird little spark of hope.

Maybe today... really was the day.

———

Three hours passed faster than expected.

Soon, OJ and Paintbrush sat at the fountain outside the mall, their designated meeting spot. The sun shimmered against the water, crowds buzzed around them, and OJ’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

He kept tapping his knee. Checking his phone. Staring at the parking lot like it held all the answers.

“Stop looking at your phone,” Paintbrush said without looking up from theirs. “You’ll know when he’s here. He’s not exactly subtle.”

“I’m not nervous,” OJ lied.

Paintbrush glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“I mean, I am, but not about him not coming,” OJ corrected quickly. “I’m not... that pathetic.”

Paintbrush didn’t reply. I just took a sip of their iced coffee.

A few minutes later, the group arrived, first Pickle, practically skipping, with Bomb and Knife trailing behind.

“Heyyy!” Pickle waved dramatically, spinning on one heel. “We’re here, and we’re gorgeous!”

“You’re late,” Paintbrush said flatly.

“Fashionably late,” Pickle corrected. “Had to wait for Knife to finish whatever brooding playlist he was crying to.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Knife grumbled. “I was charging my phone.”

“Yeah. Your phone and your soul,” Pickle snickered.

Knife looked like he might throw Pickle into the fountain.

Bomb trailed behind. "H-Hey!”

Right on cue, Lightbulb appeared from the crowd, double-fisting an iced drink and an entire pretzel. “The pretzel line took forever, but I survived.”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Paintbrush deadpanned.

“Yeah, yeah, time is fake.” Lightbulb waved a hand. “Anyway, I’m fueled. I’m dangerous. Let’s do this.”

The only person missing... was Paper.

OJ’s stomach twisted itself into a full origami crane. He refreshed his texts again. No messages.

“What if something happened? What if he changed his mind? What if—“

Two hands clamped over his eyes.

“Guess who?” a familiar voice teased.

“OH MY GOD, PAPER,” OJ yelped, flinching so hard he nearly fell off the fountain ledge.

Paper burst out laughing, pulling his hands away. “Dude! Chill! You’re so jumpy.”

OJ whipped around, half-panicked, half-relieved. “You scared me half to death! That’s illegal!”

Paper just grinned. “You okay?”

“Yeah! Just... caught me off guard.” OJ rubbed the back of his neck, absolutely sure his face was red.

“Adorable,” Pickle whispered to Knife.

Knife sighed. “You are so annoying.”

Lightbulb slung an arm around Bomb, grinning. “So are we eating? I'm starving!”

“Y-You... j-just had a p-pretzel,” Bomb pointed out.

“That was a pre-snack,” Lightbulb grinned.

Paintbrush stood, stretching. “Let’s go before she starts gnawing on one of us.”

As the group shuffled toward the food court, Pickle leaned over to Paper, stage-whispering, “Just so you know... we almost had to sedate OJ waiting for you.”

“Pickle,” OJ hissed.

“What? It was cute!”

Paper laughed softly, adjusting his bag. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

The group ambled away, a chaotic mess of chatter and shoving and laughter.

And somewhere near the back of the group... Paper and OJ walked side by side.

Close. Closer than usual.

Shoulders brushing every so often.

Neither of them pulled away.

———

At the food court, everyone split off to get whatever they were craving: burgers, fries, smoothies, or pizza. It was a mess of indecision and arguing over which line was fastest.

Eventually, they all reconvened at a large corner table, tucked against the glass windows overlooking the parking lot. And just as planned, everyone but Paper and OJ made sure to rush ahead and grab their seats first.

The two empty chairs left were right next to each other. Center of the table. Strategically placed.

Another step in Operation: Get These Two to Finally Confess Already.

When Paper and OJ walked over, trays in hand, they paused.

Paper raised an eyebrow.

OJ just sighed.

“Seriously?” he mumbled under his breath.

“They’re not even trying to hide it anymore,” Paper muttered back.

But neither of them made a fuss. In fact, they sat down without another word, shoulders just barely brushing, a subtle flush rising on both of their faces.

If today was really the day, this wasn’t the worst setup in the world.

For a moment, the group just ate quietly. The noise of the food court buzzed around them, but at their table, it was oddly silent.

Too silent. Like everyone was trying not to draw attention to the two seats in the middle.

Which is why, of course, Lightbulb couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay,” she said, slapping her tray down dramatically. “If you could swap bodies with anyone at this table, who would it be?”

Paintbrush groaned immediately. “Lightbulb…”

“What?!” she said, eyes wide. “It was getting weirdly quiet. I’m saving us from emotional tension-related suffocation.”

“Maybe,” Knife deadpanned, “it’s quiet because we’re eating?”

Pickle snorted. “Lame. I’m with Lightbulb. We need some chaos. And also, I’d switch with Knife.”

Knife raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because you have a great body,” Pickle said, poking his straw at him. “I’d show it off for a day, then eat a ton of garbage and ruin it because I’m petty and jealous.”

Knife blinked. “…Thanks?”

Lightbulb grinned. “I’d switch with Bomb. I want to know what it’s like to have a functional sleep schedule.”

Bomb shrugged. “I-I mean… You’re n-not missing much.”

Paper leaned back in his chair, smiling a little. “I’d probably switch with Lightbulb, actually. I don’t understand how she always has so much energy. Maybe a day in her brain would help.”

“It’s probably the amount of sugar she eats,” Paintbrush said, sipping their drink.

Lightbulb gasped, clutching her chest. “Excuse you?! I don’t eat that much sugar! Maybe I’m just not allergic to joy, whimsy, and childhood wonder!”

Paintbrush didn’t look up. “Whatever. I’m switching with OJ.”

OJ nearly choked on his drink. “Wait, what?!”

Paintbrush smirked. “Yeah. I’d buy you a whole new wardrobe. You have so much potential. It physically hurts me.”

Paper laughed. Not just a polite laugh, an actual, warm one. That laugh OJ liked too much for his own good.

OJ turned his head slightly, watching him. The sound made his chest ache, but in a good way. God, he was so in trouble.

“You’re not touching my sweaters,” he muttered to Paintbrush.

“Too late,” they replied. “I’ve already planned the shopping spree.”

The table kept buzzing with more ridiculous body-swap answers. Lightbulb threatened to switch with Knife just to throw out all his horribly cut t-shirts. Pickle said he’d switch with Paintbrush and prank the entire school. Knife refused to play.

But even through the laughter, OJ kept glancing at Paper. The sunlight from the glass caught in his hair. His sleeve had a little paint smudge on it. He looked relaxed, happy, and unaware that OJ was watching him like his heart was hanging on a thread.

They were close. Closer than ever.

He just had to find the moment.

Paper glanced back at him, their eyes locking for just a second.

OJ looked away first.

“Alright, I’m done,” Lightbulb announced, pushing her tray away like it offended her. “Let’s go shopping. I’m hitting Spencer’s first; who’s coming?”

Bomb raised his hand without hesitation. “I’ll go!”

Paintbrush blinked. “Spencer’s? Really?”

Lightbulb grinned. “Duh. The weirdest stuff is always in the back corner. It’s art.”

Everyone else went suspiciously quiet.

Nobody wanted to say no outright, because then Lightbulb might make them go just to spite them, but nobody was exactly volunteering either.

Paintbrush glanced around. “Well, I’m going to wander and see what I find. I’m expanding my wardrobe this summer. Less flannel, more flare.”

Pickle turned to Knife, his hand gripping Knife’s arm like a clamp. His eyes practically screamed, Go with me, or I will make this weird in front of everyone. Knife let out the longest sigh of the day.

“Me and Pickle are checking out GameStop,” he muttered.

“You love GameStop,” Pickle said cheerfully.

“No, I love peace,” Knife said.

Paper’s eyebrows drew together. “Wait, if we’re all splitting up, shouldn’t we figure out a place to meet later?”

“YES!” Pickle perked up instantly, like he'd been waiting for that exact line. “The arcade! Meet back there in, like, two hours?”

“That works,” Paintbrush nodded.

Paper typed it into his notes app. “Two hours. Arcade. Got it.”

Paintbrush walked by slowly and paused just long enough to lean close to OJ and whisper, “You’ve got this,” before slipping away with a little wink.

And then—

Silence.

Just Paper and OJ left behind in the middle of the food court. Trays pushed aside. Empty chairs all around them.

Paper glanced over. “Sooo…”

OJ scratched the back of his neck. “Wanna… walk around or something?”

“Yeah,” Paper said, standing with him. “Sure.”

They walked in quiet for a moment, weaving through the usual mall chaos, stroller traffic, loud music spilling out from random stores, and someone juggling by a pretzel stand for tips. It was noisy around them, but between them? The quiet felt personal.

Comfortable. Almost.

“So,” Paper said, breaking the silence, “are we actually shopping or just pretending we’re too cool to admit we’re bored?”

OJ laughed softly. “I mean, pretending we’re cooler than we are is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

Paper smiled, bumping his shoulder gently against OJ’s. “Yeah. We are very cool, objectively.”

OJ didn’t reply right away. He glanced over at him, the light catching in Paper’s eyes. They crinkled a little when he smiled. He looked warm. Familiar. Like something OJ could reach for if he just let himself.

“...You look nice today,” OJ said, a little too suddenly.

Paper blinked. “What?”

OJ hesitated. “Just saying. You look good. I noticed.”

Paper’s face flushed, and he ducked his head. “Oh. Thanks. I—uh—you too.”

OJ smiled a little to himself. They kept walking, neither one acknowledging how close they were standing now, how their hands kept brushing every few steps.

If this was how the day started… maybe he really could say it later.

Maybe this was the start of something.

———

Paper and OJ didn’t have a destination in mind. They just kept walking.

The mall buzzed around them, families wrangling kids, the occasional burst of laughter from behind glass storefronts, and the distant sound of someone trying (and failing) to play “Clocks” by Coldplay on the piano display by the escalators.

They passed by a row of stores: one with overpriced hoodies, another selling perfume that made OJ sneeze just walking by, and then—

“Wait,” Paper said suddenly, grabbing OJ’s sleeve. “This one.”

OJ followed his gaze. Tucked between a sunglass kiosk and a smoothie place was a tiny shop without even a proper name, just a hand-painted wooden sign that simply read: Books & Antiques.

Inside, it was... chaotic, but in the best way. A cross between a cozy used bookstore, a cluttered stationery aisle, and the fever dream of someone who drank five espressos and never threw anything away. Stacks of zines, novelty mugs, antique trinkets, and mismatched shelves of random treasures. It smelled like paper, cinnamon, and something vaguely herbal.

“Of course you’d pick the weirdest store in the mall,” OJ teased, stepping in behind him.

“It’s charming,” Paper defended, already making a beeline for a shelf stacked with old journals and poetry books. “Look! Half of this stuff looks haunted.”

“Perfect. Let’s buy something cursed to commemorate the day.”

Paper chuckled, fingers grazing over spines until one caught his eye, a tiny navy-blue book with gold foil pressed into the cover. “‘Reasons You Deserve Nice Things,’” he read aloud, flipping it open. “Okay… wait. This is kind of cute.”

OJ leaned over to look, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. “Is it blank?”

“Nope.” Paper grinned, thumbing through the pages. “It’s literally a hundred tiny affirmations. ‘You are not a burden.’ ‘Your voice matters.’ ‘You don’t have to earn rest.’ Stuff like that.”

OJ blinked. “...That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“I know, right?” Paper smiled softly, his fingers lingering on the pages. “It’s weirdly comforting. Like… somebody out there just sat down and wrote this for whoever needed it.”

OJ didn’t answer right away. He was just watching him, watching the way Paper held the book like it was something fragile. Like something he was scared to believe in.

“...Maybe you should get it,” OJ said, quieter this time. “I think… you’d probably read it more than anyone else.”

Paper looked up, startled by how earnest that sounded. “...You think I need affirmations?”

OJ shrugged, pretending to study a shelf. “I think… you deserve nice things.”

Silence.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just... thick. Full of something they weren’t saying.

Paper looked away first, pink creeping up his ears. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’re going to break me.”

“I’m not saying anything,” OJ mumbled, nudging his shoulder gently. “You’re just not used to compliments.”

“Because you never give me any,” Paper shot back, but there was no heat in it. Just a shaky laugh.

———

They drifted apart for a bit, OJ lingering near a table of puzzle cubes and fidget toys, Paper flipping through a wire rack of postcards printed with abstract art and passive-aggressive quotes. Every so often, one of them would call out to the other.

“Paper,” OJ said, holding up a pin shaped like a sad little ghost. “This is literally you.”

Paper squinted. “Excuse me, I’m not that depressed.”

“This one has a coffee cup,” OJ added, flipping it around. “Ghost… but caffeinated.”

“...Okay, fine. That’s fair.”

A few minutes passed like that, soft banter layered over something quieter, heavier. Something neither of them wanted to touch just yet.

Eventually, they both ended up at the same shelf again. A display of tiny snow globes, each one bizarrely themed. One had the Loch Ness monster. One had a pizza slice. Another was just a disco ball with glitter.

Paper picked one up, rolling it in his hands. “You ever just… wish you could shake your own life like this and make all the bad stuff settle down?”

OJ blinked, caught off guard. “...That’s... kind of deep for a $6 novelty snow globe.”

Paper snorted. “Yeah. This place’s energy is getting to me.”

OJ didn’t answer right away. He just… stared. At the way Paper’s fingers fidgeted with the snow globe. At the softness in his voice when he got thoughtful like this. In a way, he always felt a little more real in quiet moments like this.

“...You know,” OJ murmured, voice almost too low to hear, “I like hanging out like this. Just... us.”

Paper met his gaze. “Me too.”

And there it was again.

That almost-something.

That maybe.

That weightless space between everything they weren’t saying.

It stretched. Longer than it should have. Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked. For a second, the world outside the shop didn’t even seem to exist.

Was this the moment? Was something finally going to happen?

OJ was definitely thinking about it. Paper was definitely hoping for it.

So why, why, wouldn’t either of them just say something?

OJ’s heart was in his throat. His hands fidgeted. He opened his mouth, half a breath, half a word—

“Uhh, I’m gonna go… look over here!” OJ blurted, practically sprinting off toward a random shelf.

Paper stood frozen for a beat. His shoulders sank, not in relief, but in disappointment.

Seriously?

“Right. Cool. Totally fine,” Paper muttered under his breath, turning away. “Guess I’ll just… look at… puzzles or something.”

He wandered over to a cluttered table stacked with brain teaser toys, pretending to focus. Pretending it didn’t sting. Pretending the ache in his chest was anything but what it was.

“Why am I like this?” He thought bitterly, fiddling with a metal puzzle piece. “Why do I keep thinking this could actually happen?”

Because deep down… it wasn’t a mystery anymore. Not to him. Paper knew exactly how he felt.

But OJ? OJ was a mess of mixed signals. And maybe Paper was just tired. Tired of wondering. Tired of hoping. Maybe it was stupid to think they could be a thing.

Meanwhile, OJ was sitting on the floor behind a shelf, hands gripping his knees, spiraling at full speed.

“That was the moment. That was literally the moment. What is wrong with me?!”

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “So what? Do I just, what, run back over there and say it? Like some kind of idiot?”

“Maybe. Yeah. Maybe that’s exactly what I’m supposed to do.”

God. This was miserable.

This mall trip was supposed to set them up. Wasn’t that the whole point? But now? Now it just felt like the world was holding them apart on purpose.

OJ glanced at his watch. Two hours. Somehow, two whole hours had passed.

He groaned, forcing himself upright. No. No more spiraling. Go find him. Do something. Say something. Anything.

His eyes scanned the store until, there. Paper. Sitting at a table, still fidgeting with a puzzle, looking… distracted. Sad, even.

OJ’s stomach twisted.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked over, heart pounding. “Hey...”

Paper glanced up. “Hey.”

OJ fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “Uh… ready to go?”

Paper stood, grabbing his stuff. “Yeah. Arcade. Here we come!”

They shared a shaky laugh, awkward but warm, and headed toward the exit.

And for all the tension hanging between them, neither of them noticed that, as they walked, their hands drifted just close enough for their fingers to almost brush.

Almost.

But not quite.

———

Of course, they were the last two to show up.

Everyone else was already waiting outside the arcade, clustered around the entrance. Pickle was practically vibrating with excitement, bouncing on his heels like a kid waiting for candy.

“Well, it took you two long enough,” Paintbrush snorted, arms crossed, rolling their eyes like they hadn’t been grinning two seconds ago.

Pickle elbowed Knife, whispering way too loudly, “They were the last ones to show up. What do you think that means?”

Knife sighed and grabbed the collar of Pickle’s shirt, physically holding him back. “It means shut up.”

OJ scratched the back of his neck, trying not to look flustered. “Yeah, uh… we got distracted. Found some… weird little store.”

“It wasn’t weird,” Paper defended immediately, glancing at OJ with a quiet laugh. “It was… unique. In a weird way.”

OJ gave him a lopsided grin. “That’s one way to put it. Okay, fine. ‘Unique in a weird way.’”

The two of them laughed, just a little too long, just a little too softly.

The rest of the group? Staring. Hard.

Yeah. That got awkward fast.

Paintbrush coughed. “Soooo. Anyway. Are we going inside, or are we just going to stand here making everyone uncomfortable?”

“Inside. Definitely inside,” OJ agreed quickly, tugging the door open.

As the group filed in, Paintbrush casually slowed their pace until they were walking right next to OJ. Then, with absolutely zero subtlety, they grabbed OJ by the arm and yanked him back a step, letting the others walk ahead.

“Okay. Spill. Did something happen between you two? Because the tension? Palpable.” Paintbrush hissed under their breath.

OJ blinked like a deer in headlights. “I… I didn’t say anything. Not yet.”

Paintbrush groaned. “Ugh. You’re killing me.”

But before OJ could spiral about it, his eyes flicked around the arcade—and then he saw it.

Tucked in the far corner. Half-hidden between the air hockey tables and the claw machines. The perfect spot. The perfect moment waiting to happen.

A photo booth.

A small, beat-up photo booth with faded curtains and cheap plastic seats. Nobody was paying attention to it. Not yet.

OJ smiled. For the first time all day, it wasn’t nervous.

"No,” he said quietly. “But… I think I know what I’m going to do.”

Paintbrush raised a brow. “...You’re being cryptic. Don’t like that. Should I be worried?”

OJ shook his head. “Nope. Just… wish me luck.”

Paintbrush sighed. “I always do.”

By then, the others had already made it inside, spreading out near the entrance. Neon lights flashed. Machines buzzed and beeped. Somewhere in the back, the sound of skee-ball tickets spilling out drowned out the chaos.

Then came the big question.

“So… are we splitting up or staying together this time?” Knife asked, already eyeing the basketball hoops like they personally offended him.

Pickle jumped in immediately. “Let’s hang out together first, then split up. Best idea. Right? Right.”

Nobody argued. Honestly, it was tradition at this point.

“Sounds good,” Paper nodded. “I call dibs on air hockey at some point.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Knife grinned.

“Bro, you have no aim,” Bomb deadpanned.

“Shut up. I do too.”

As everyone launched into rapid-fire banter about what to play first, OJ hung back for a second, hands shoved in his pockets, glancing, again, at that photo booth tucked near the wall.

The group wandered deeper, eyes darting from game to game. Lights flickered against their faces. A claw machine jingled its sad little womp-womp sound as someone failed to grab a plush.

“Oh my GOD,” Pickle gasped, sprinting ahead. “Guys—LOOK. Mini ducks!!”

Sure enough, one of the claw machines was filled with neon-colored frogs. Or maybe they were ducks. Or maybe both. Either way, they looked utterly stupid.

“I need one,” Pickle declared, already slamming tokens into the slot.

“You know that thing’s rigged, right?” Knife said, arms crossed.

“Yeah. And I’m stubborn.”

The claw wobbled, descended… and immediately dropped the duck an inch from the prize chute.

“NOOOOOOOOO—” Pickle collapsed against the glass. “He was RIGHT THERE!!”

Paper snorted. “Bro, you sound like you just watched a tragic movie ending.”

“It was tragic,” Pickle whimpered.

“M-Man’s grieving a stuffed d-duck,” Bomb said.

“Let him process,” Paintbrush sighed.

Suddenly, an obnoxiously loud DUN DUN DUN blared from the back, the telltale opening of the dance game’s main screen. Neon lights pulsed in sync with the bass.

“Oh my GOD,” Lightbulb gasped. “Look. Dance Frenzy.”

Pickle perked up instantly. “Do it. Do it.”

Knife threw his hands up. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t dance.”

“Lame,” Lightbulb grinned. “I’ll do it.”

She practically sprinted over, slamming coins into the machine. “Somebody get over here! I’m not embarrassing myself alone.”

“Oh, you are so on,” Paintbrush grinned, tossing their backpack down and stepping onto the other pad. “Prepare to lose.”

The music kicked in, something obnoxiously fast and sparkly. Lights flashed. Arrows flew.

Lightbulb stomped in perfect sync, flailing her arms like she was powering a wind turbine. Paintbrush tried to keep up but was already two steps behind, wheezing halfway through from laughing too hard.

“Are you dancing or starting a fire?” Paper yelled.

“S-She’s ascending,” Bomb deadpanned.

“She’s transcending,” Pickle corrected solemnly, clutching the glass of the duck machine like a widow at a funeral.

Halfway through, Lightbulb tried a dramatic spin, nearly wiping out but catching herself on the bar. “I’M GOOD! I’M FINE!” she yelled.

“Bro, you are one wipeout away from being a safety hazard,” OJ laughed.

The song ended with both of them collapsing against the side rails, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay,” Paintbrush panted, “I hate you. But also… respect.”

Lightbulb grinned. “See? Iconic.”

The group kept moving, bouncing from game to game. Pickle dragged them toward skee-ball, only to get distracted by a basketball hoop shooter.

“Wait, no, I challenge all of you.” Pickle tossed in a token, grabbed the ball, and immediately bricked the first shot.

“Flawless start,” Paper deadpanned.

“Shut up. That was a practice shot.”

Bomb grabbed the next ball and sank it on the first try. “P-Practice my a—”

“HEY!” Paintbrush cut him off before he finished.

Knife crossed his arms. “Pickle, you have the aim of a blindfolded squirrel.”

“Watch me,” Pickle declared, just in time to wildly overshoot the basket so hard it bounced off the rim and smacked Knife in the leg.

“…I’m going to pretend that was an accident,” Knife said flatly.

“It was... mostly,” Pickle winced.

It spiraled from there. Paper nearly nailed Bomb in the head trying to catch one of the flying balls. Paintbrush somehow got the machine to register negative points. Lightbulb started commentating on everything like it was an Olympic sport.

“Here comes Bomb with the rebound—OH, AND IT’S A MISS! A tragic loss for Team Loudmouths!”

Bomb shoved her playfully. “S-Shut up.”

OJ wasn’t even playing. Just... watching.

Watching Paper laugh until he nearly doubled over. Watching the way his hair fell in front of his eyes when he bent down. Watching how, even in chaos, Paper’s smile made the rest of the world feel a little quieter.

His gaze drifted again. To the far corner.

The photo booth. Neon OPEN sign buzzing. Like it was waiting.

That’s it. That’s the moment.

“Okay, okay, what’s next?” Pickle panted. “Air hockey? Tickets? Should we gamble our life savings away at the claw machine again?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Knife grumbled.

———

For the next hour, chaos continued. Car simulators. Rigged claw machines. An arcade pizza that was somehow both greasy and cardboard. No one complained. They were too busy laughing.

But through all of it, OJ couldn’t focus. His mind was stuck on one thing.

Waiting. Waiting for someone to suggest splitting up. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting to do something he’d spent way too long being terrified of.

“Come on. Someone. Say it already.”

He sat half-slumped at the table, fidgeting with the rim of his cup, his gaze flicking toward Paper again.

“God. You are so pathetic. Just do it.”

And then—

“Let’s split up,” Lightbulb announced, clapping her hands like a game show host.

Finally.

“Same groups as last time?” Paintbrush asked.

“Yeah, sure!” Pickle grinned.

Everyone naturally grabbed their usual person. This time, Paintbrush drifted over to Lightbulb’s group, leaving OJ and Paper standing just a little apart.

OJ practically jogged over. “So... it’s me and you.”

Paper smiled, soft and easy. “Yup. Just us.”

There was something about the way he said it. Not teasing. Not nervous. Just... happy. Like he wanted it to be just them.

OJ’s heart jumped sideways. “Uh... yeah. Cool. So, uh... what do you want to do?”

Paper shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around. “Mmm... not sure. Let’s just walk. Look around.”

OJ swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

Perfect. This was perfect. Time to breathe. Time to figure out how the hell to say everything that had been eating him alive for months.

They walked. Side by side. Shoulders brushing sometimes. Neither pulled away.

Silence. But not awkward. Just... easy.

Paper glanced over. “You okay? You seem... kind of nervous.”

OJ nearly choked. “What? No. Me? Nervous? Noooo.”

Paper raised a brow.

“Okay. Maybe a little,” OJ admitted, laughing softly. “I guess... I’ve just been thinking.”

Paper tilted his head. “About?”

OJ hesitated. His mouth opened—

But Paper softened. “...Hey. You don’t have to say it yet. We can just... be. For now.”

OJ blinked. His chest squeezed tight. God, how does he always know what he’s thinking?

“...Yeah,” OJ murmured. “Yeah. That’s... good.”

They kept walking.

Somewhere in the distance, Lightbulb’s laugh echoed, dragging Paintbrush into something ridiculous. Machines whirred. Tickets spit out. Voices layered over neon noise.

But for OJ, it all blurred out.

Because right now, it was just them.

Walking. Shoulders brushing. Something soft pulling them closer.

Paper glanced sideways, smiling, quiet, and a little shy. “...You know... I missed this.”

OJ blinked. “Missed what?”

“Just... you. Like this. When it’s not... weird. Or complicated. When it’s just... us.”

OJ’s chest squeezed so tight he could barely breathe. “...Yeah. Me too.”

And then, he saw it.

The Photo Booth.

Faded curtain. Neon PHOTO sign buzzing.

This is it. No backing out. No stalling. Do it.

Before he could even suggest it, Paper’s eyes followed his gaze, and he grinned.

“Oh, come on,” Paper said. “We have to. What’s an arcade trip without cheesy photo booth pictures?”

OJ exhaled like his lungs were collapsing. “Yeah. Yeah, totally. Let’s do it.”

Thank God he suggested it first. Makes it look way less suspicious.

They stepped inside. The curtain fell shut behind them, and the rest of the arcade faded away.

It was small. Cramped. Knees touching. If either of them shifted even an inch, they’d bump shoulders, thighs, and elbows.

OJ shoved a few crumpled bills into the machine.

“Wait, hey, I could’ve paid,” Paper protested, nudging him.

“Nah. My treat,” OJ said, fingers shaking.

Paper rolled his eyes but smiled. “Fine. But next time, it’s my turn.”

The screen flickered to life. ‘GET READY!’ flashed, followed by the countdown.

Neither of them really looked. They’d done this before.

Ten seconds.

“First one’s gotta be normal,” Paper grinned, throwing up a peace sign, smiling like it was the easiest thing in the world.

OJ sat a little stiff but smiled. Something small. Something almost normal.

Flash.

Countdown again.

“Make it stupid,” Paper nudged.

Without thinking, OJ stuck his tongue out and threw his hands up like claws. Paper burst out laughing right as the camera snapped.

Flash.

Next countdown. This was it.

Heart pounding. Throat dry. OJ turned toward him.

“Paper...” His voice shook. “I think... I think I’ve finally figured out what this is. What I’ve been feeling. And it’s... God, it’s been so scary and—”

FLASH.

The camera caught it. OJ looking straight at Paper, halfway through confessing. Paper staring back, eyes wide, caught mid-breath.

The final countdown started. 5... 4... 3...

Paper blinked. Voice soft. “...And?”

OJ’s brain scrambled. Hands clammy. Heart pounding.

Say it. Say it.

“...Forget it.”

Instead, he moved.

OJ leaned in. Closed the space. Kissed him.

It wasn’t perfect. It was awkward and breathless and a little shaky. OJ’s hand fumbled halfway to Paper’s knee but didn’t quite make it. Paper gasped, just startled, but then melted into it, hands gripping the side of OJ’s sweater like instinct.

FLASH.

The camera caught the exact second everything changed.

When the countdown ended, the screen blinked ‘THANK YOU!’ and started printing the photo strip.

Inside... neither of them moved.

Paper still gripped OJ’s sweater, heart thudding so loud it could drown everything else. OJ stared, wide-eyed, face hot, hands shaking.

“Oh my god. I actually did that.” OJ breathed.

He’d planned to say it. To confess. To get Paper’s reaction caught on film, something cute. Something sweet. Something to remember.

But... maybe actions really did speak louder than words.

Slowly, Paper pulled back, just enough to look at him. Cheeks flushed. Eyes wide but so happy.

“...So...” Paper laughed, breathless. “That’s... one way to say it.”

OJ blinked. “Y-Yeah. I... uh... yeah.”

And then, Paper leaned in again, forehead pressing to OJ’s, smiling.

“...Took you long enough.”

OJ choked on a laugh. “Oh my god.”

Outside, the printer whirred. A photo strip slid out.

1. Paper grinning, throwing up a peace sign. OJ smiling, nervous.

2. Both laughing with the dumbest faces ever.

3. OJ looking at Paper like the whole world stopped. Paper staring back, caught, breath held.

4. The kiss. Soft. Messy. Perfect.

Neither grabbed it right away.

They were too busy smiling at each other like total idiots.

Chapter Text

There they sat in the photo booth. Just the two of them. The curtain drawn shut. The hum of the machine soft and distant now.

No distractions. No noise. Just warm silence and the lingering rush of what they’d just done.

Staring into each other’s eyes, both smiling ear to ear.

Paper was the first to speak. “So… what’s next?”

OJ froze.

It was the kind of question he’d thought about before, in that half-dream way, like, what if? What if it ever got this far? What if Paper actually liked him back?

But now it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And real was terrifying.

As much as he wanted this, wanted him, he wasn’t ready to let everyone else see it. To explain it. To define it.

Everything inside still felt too new, too loud, too fragile.

The silence stretched just long enough to make Paper’s chest tighten.

He forced a smile and gently broke it. “Hey, we don’t need to label this yet. I’m just glad we finally figured out what’s going on between us.”

OJ nodded quickly. A little too quickly.

Paper let it slide.

They stepped out of the booth together.

The printer had already spat out two photo strips. Paper grabbed both. He turned, excited to show OJ, but paused when he caught the look on his face.

It wasn’t shy or surprised.

It was… sad. Scared.

Not the kind of nervous giddy you feel after kissing someone you like.

The kind of nervous that looked a lot like regret.

Paper’s smile faltered.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, carefully. “You can talk to me, you know. You did just kiss me, so there’s officially nothing too weird to say anymore.”

OJ hesitated. “Listen, Paper… I really like you. I do. But I’m still… confused. About a lot. Can we just… lay low for now?”

Paper exhaled slowly, the weight of that sinking in.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. Just… don’t make me a secret forever, alright?”

OJ nodded.

And Paper smiled again, gentler now, smaller. A little bruised.

He held out the extra photo strip. “Here. Look how cute we look.”

OJ took it. He stared at the photos, their goofy smiles, the blur of one frame where he had leaned in, and the kiss at the end.

His fingers trembled just a little.

He looked back at Paper.

Then at the photo.

Then back again.

He still couldn’t believe it actually happened. That he’d finally done it. After all the hiding, after all the waiting, the wanting, he’d kissed him.

And for a second, he’d felt relief.

“We really do look cute,” he said quietly.

Paper laughed under his breath and reached his hand out, palm up, waiting without pressure.

“We can start small for now,” he whispered. “Is that okay?”

OJ stared at his hand for a moment longer, then reached back and took it.

“Yeah.”

And just like that, they were walking together. Side by side. Fingers laced. Hearts pounding.

It was small. But it was something.

They reached the others near the arcade entrance, still clustered around the claw machine area.

Well… most of the others.

“Welcome back,” Knife greeted without looking up.

“Hey… Where are Paintbrush and Lightbulb?” OJ asked, scanning the group.

Pickle giggled. “They got kicked out. Paintbrush broke the claw machine trying to get a plushie.”

“Ripped the whole front panel off,” Knife added, deadpan. “Said it was ‘a matter of principle.’ Pretty sure the mall staff has their picture now.”

OJ managed a small laugh, until he noticed Knife’s eyes flick down.

“Oh?” Knife smirked. “Thought you would’ve heard the screaming, but I guess you two were in your own little world.”

OJ followed his gaze, to their hands.

He was still holding Paper’s hand.

In a split second, his brain lit up like a fire alarm. He let go.

Not roughly. Not harshly. But fast. Too fast.

Paper didn’t say anything.

But OJ saw the flicker on his face, the way his smile faltered just enough to hurt.

Knife raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything either.

Not yet.

“Well, does anybody want a ride home?” Pickle asked, breaking the silence. “My parents are waiting outside.”

Paper nodded. “Yeah, sure. OJ, want to ride with us?”

OJ shook his head. “I think I’ll ask my parents to pick me up. But thanks.”

Paper blinked, caught off guard. Just minutes ago they’d been holding hands, smiling like fools.

Now OJ couldn’t even ride in the same car?

Paper didn’t say anything. Maybe OJ was just scared. Maybe this was just part of figuring things out.

So he nodded and followed Pickle toward the door. “Bye, Jay. See you Monday?”

OJ didn’t respond. Just turned away, walking off in the other direction.

Paper stared after him for a beat too long, something tight pressing behind his ribs.

Pickle glanced back, concerned, but didn’t push.

Knife, who’d caught the whole exchange, was clearly confused. But he didn’t say anything. He just gave Bomb a look and motioned toward his car.

And just like that, everyone was on their way home.

———

In the car, the tension was… awkward.

Pickle, of course, noticed immediately.

He leaned in slightly, voice low so his parents wouldn’t hear. “So… what happened with you and OJ? I didn’t say anything, but I did see you holding ha—”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Paper cut in, voice soft but clipped. “I’m not too sure what it was either…”

Pickle frowned. “Okay… but please keep me updated?”

Paper nodded and gave him a tired smile. “Yeah. I promise.”

A pause. Then softer: “Thanks for tonight, by the way. The whole setup and everything.”

Pickle grinned. “See? I can be emotionally competent. Occasionally.”

Paper chuckled, just barely, and looked out the window.

The lights of the mall faded behind them, replaced by streetlamps and passing headlights.

He rested his forehead against the glass and watched them blur.

His heart still ached.

But for now… silence was easier than trying to make sense of it.

———

Once they pulled up to his house, Paper unbuckled and opened the door slowly.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said, flashing Pickle’s parents a polite smile.

“No problem, sweetheart,” Pickle’s mom replied cheerfully as he shut the door behind him.

The second he turned away from the car, the smile faded.

Going inside, he slipped off his shoes and tried to move quietly past the living room. Maybe, just maybe, he could get upstairs without being noticed.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

“Hey, sweetie!” his mom called from the couch, looking up from her wine glass and the half-watched sitcom playing on low volume.

“Hey… I’m just going up to my room—”

“Paper, you never hang out with me anymore.” Her voice had that joking edge to it, but he could hear the actual concern underneath. “Is something wrong?”

Paper didn’t answer right away.

Because yeah, something was wrong. But the last thing he needed right now was relationship advice from the woman who couldn’t even stay married. She’d just chalk it up to hormones or drama or say something half-joking that would sting for real.

“I’m fine,” he said instead. “Just really tired. I’m going to get ready for bed, okay?”

“This early? It’s only—”

“Mom,” he snapped, sharper than he meant to. “Can I just? Please?”

Her expression flickered—hurt, then understanding.

She nodded. “Alright. Goodnight, honey.”

Paper didn’t say anything back. He just climbed the stairs quickly and shut the door behind him.

———

By the time he’d showered, brushed his teeth, and pulled on his softest hoodie and pajama pants, the quiet of his room was a little too quiet.

He flopped onto his bed and grabbed his phone.

Nothing from OJ.

He stared at the empty screen for a second, willing it to light up. Just one message. Just something.

Still nothing.

“Should I text first?” he thought. “Does that sound too… desperate?”

He stared at the chat for a few more seconds, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Forget it. He was going for it anyway.

justpaper [7:04 P.M.]
hey, today was so much fun! ❤️❤️

Sent.

He stared at the screen a little longer, like watching it hard enough might make a response appear. Then he pressed the phone to his chest and forced himself not to look. He counted slowly in his head.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

He caved.

The message had been seen.

No typing bubble. No emoji reaction. Just... seen.

Something inside Paper twisted. He sat up in bed, gripping his phone like it had betrayed him.

Why?

Why did this always happen to him?

Why couldn’t anything good just stay good?

It had been perfect for, like… two seconds.

Just them. Just them.

And now here he was again, staring at a screen like an idiot, trying not to cry.

He could’ve. He almost did.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he put his phone face-down on the nightstand and turned over in bed. Curled up under the covers. Pulled them over his head.

He’d been here before.

Staring at his screen, hoping. Pretending it didn’t hurt to care this much.

His heart felt heavy, like it was sinking lower and lower in his chest.

Maybe OJ just needed time. Maybe he was scared.

Paper understood that.

But knowing it didn’t make it hurt any less.

So he shut his eyes and forced himself to lie still. Even though his mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

Even though a tiny, desperate part of him kept hoping his phone would buzz, just once.

But it didn’t.

And that silence?

It hurt worse than anything OJ could’ve said.

———

OJ’s parents barely said a word when he got home, and he was grateful for that.

He headed straight to his room, ignoring the dinner plates still sitting out on the counter and the muffled sound of the TV from the living room. His feet felt heavy, like every step dragged guilt behind it.

Once inside, he shut the door quietly. Locked it. Tossed his bag by his chair and dropped onto his bed like the weight of the night had finally caught up to him.

His phone buzzed.

He didn’t even have to check to know who it was.

He waited. Stared at the screen, still face-down beside him. He shouldn’t look. Not yet.

But he did anyway.

justpaper [7:04 P.M.]
hey, today was so much fun! ❤️❤️

OJ read it once.

Then again.

His stomach twisted.

Why did it feel like the more Paper cared, the worse he felt?

The message was simple. Sweet. Happy.

So why couldn’t he bring himself to reply?

He wanted to. He really, really did.

But his fingers didn’t move.

His brain wouldn’t let them.

Instead, he tapped into the chat and just stared at the message until the “seen” receipt popped up. No reply. No emoji. Nothing.

Then he locked his phone and tossed it onto his pillow like it had burned him.

He laid back and stared at the ceiling.

Everything had been perfect. For a second. For a minute in that photo booth, it felt like the world made sense. Like maybe he could just be with Paper, and nothing else had to matter.

But then Knife saw. The others probably saw too. And the moment that happened, it all came rushing back.

The what-ifs. The what-would-they-says. The voice in his head whispering, not ready. You’re going to ruin this.

And maybe… he already had.

He should’ve taken the ride with Paper. Should’ve held his hand longer. Should’ve smiled. Should’ve texted back something. Anything.

“But what do I even say? ‘Me too’? ‘Sorry I dropped your hand’? ‘I don’t know how to do this’?”

None of it felt good enough.

He grabbed his pillow and buried his face in it, groaning quietly into the fabric. His heart was racing, but not in a good way.

Maybe he was ruining everything.

And worse… maybe Paper was starting to realize it.

It was almost nine by the time OJ finally moved again. He hadn’t turned on the lights. Just laid in bed, wrapped in his own silence, letting the world dim around him.

He picked up his phone again.

No new messages.

His chat with Paper still sat open, his side empty. The read receipt stared back at him like a ticking clock he’d let run out.

He hovered over the keyboard.

Started typing something.

Deleted it.

Tried again.

Deleted it again.

He wanted to tell Paper he was sorry. That he was scared. That all of this felt too big sometimes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

But how do you say that without it sounding like an excuse?

How do you say I’m not ready for the world to know without it also sounding like I’m not ready for you?

He tossed the phone aside again and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until stars bloomed behind them.

He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t breathe right.

“Why am I like this?”

“Why can’t I just be normal about this?”

All he wanted was to rewind. Back to the photo booth. Back to Paper’s laugh. Back to when holding his hand felt like the only thing that mattered.

He pulled the photo strip from his pocket.

Unfolded it with shaky fingers.

There they were, squished into the tiny frame. Paper throwing up a peace sign in the first. OJ making a dumb face in the second. Both of them staring at each other in the third, the wanting obvious in their eyes.

And the last?

That kiss.

It was real. It had happened. No matter how scared he was, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise… it was real.

He smiled. A little.

Then frowned again.

Because it still didn’t fix anything.

He kept the photo beside him as he slid under the blankets and turned away from the blinking light of his phone.

No goodnight texts. No hearts.

Just him. And the photo. And a guilt he didn’t know what to do with.

He knew he’d have to say something.

Tomorrow. Eventually.

But tonight?

He closed his eyes and let the silence win.

———

The weekend passed.

And OJ and Paper went completely no contact.

Again.

No texts. No calls. Not even a vague emoji reaction. Just silence.

It shouldn’t have surprised Paper by now, but it still stung.

So by Monday morning, Paper was done waiting.

He got up early, too early, and got ready without dragging his feet for once. Hair, outfit, bag. All done in record time.

He left the house before his mom could even say good morning.

Because if he got to school early, maybe he’d have a chance to talk to OJ. Alone. Before the day swallowed them both in noise and people and pretending.

He arrived before the first bell and went straight to homeroom, barely slowing down as he walked the halls. When he got there, he all but dove into his seat.

Then he folded his hands on the desk.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

With every passing minute, more students trickled in, chatting and laughing and filling the room with noise.

But no OJ.

Paper’s chest tightened. Homeroom was about to start in two minutes, and OJ still hadn’t shown up.

He slumped in his seat, heart sinking.

Maybe OJ was avoiding homeroom now, too.

Then, just as the final warning bell rang, OJ walked in.

Paper’s eyes snapped up.

OJ looked tired. His backpack was slung half on. His walk was slower than usual, like even being here was too much.

But he didn’t look at Paper.

Not even once.

He walked straight to his seat. Sat down. Eyes on his desk.

Paper blinked.

Seriously?

“Are you seriously doing that?” he asked, sharper than he meant to. The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

OJ looked over, eyebrows furrowed. “Doing what exactly?”

Paper scoffed, quiet but bitter. “Seriously, OJ? After everything that happened the other day?”

OJ’s jaw tensed. “Paper, can we not right now?”

Paper’s face tightened. His voice dropped, barely above a whisper now, but every word burned.

“Okay, not to sound like a bitch, but… you kissed me. You kissed me, and now you’re avoiding me? I get that you want to ‘lay low,’ but can you at least talk to me?”

OJ didn’t say anything.

He stared down at his desk like the grain in the wood had suddenly become fascinating. His hands were clenched in his lap. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But he didn’t.

And that silence? It was louder than anything he could’ve said wrong.

Paper stared at him a moment longer, searching his face for a flicker. A sign. Something.

But OJ didn’t even look up.

Paper turned away quickly, blinking hard.

He wasn’t going to cry.

Not here. Not in front of everyone.

He stared straight ahead, willing the tears to disappear, even as they pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He’d let himself hope. That was the worst part.

He’d hoped that kiss meant something. That maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be left hanging.

But here he was again.

Alone.

Still pretending he was okay.

Still pretending he didn’t care as much as he did.

———

OJ didn’t remember what announcements were made in homeroom.

Didn’t hear the bell.

Didn’t register the sound of students getting up, chairs scraping, or voices rising as people filtered into the hallway.

All he could think about was the way Paper had looked at him.

Hurt.

Confused.

Betrayed.

And worst of all, like he was trying so hard not to cry.

“You did that.”

He stayed in his seat for too long, head bowed, like maybe if he stayed small enough, the guilt would pass.

It didn’t.

Eventually, he grabbed his backpack and joined the flow of students. Head down. Ghosting through the crowd. Just another kid going to class.

Except his brain was screaming.

Why? Why am I doing this?

Why am I pushing him away if I want this?

He liked Paper. He’d known that for a long time.

And he wanted what they almost had in that photo booth, that soft, quiet thing where nothing else mattered except the way Paper looked at him, like he meant something. Like he could be loved.

But the second they stepped outside the booth, into the real world, it collapsed.

Because OJ didn’t know how to be that brave. Not yet. Not with everyone watching.

And now?

Now he was losing him. He could feel it.

He turned down the hallway that usually led to history and instinctively glanced toward the lockers. Where Paper usually stood.

But today?

Paper wasn’t there.

OJ slowed.

He scanned the crowd, just to be sure.

And then he saw it.

Paper’s locker: empty. His bag: gone. And further down, a flash of movement, Paper, walking the opposite direction.

Toward the back entrance.

At first, OJ thought maybe he was just going to the guidance office. Or the bathroom. Something quick.

But Paper kept walking.

Didn’t glance around.

Didn’t hesitate.

OJ stopped cold.

His heart dropped.

He’s not going to class.

And somehow, that hit harder than anything else.

Because skipping? That wasn’t Paper. Not unless something was seriously wrong.

OJ’s throat went dry. His grip tightened on the strap of his backpack.

He thought about the message Paper sent Saturday night.

hey, today was so much fun! ❤️❤️

He thought about how he never replied. How he’d left him on “seen.”

He thought about Paper’s voice in homeroom, quiet, angry, and shaking.

Can you at least talk to me?

And now Paper was going… who knows where.

Alone.

Because of him.

Say something, his brain begged. Go after him. Fix it. Don’t be a coward again.

But he didn’t move.

He just stood there. Frozen in the hallway. While the world moved past him.

The longer he stood there, the further away Paper got.

OJ turned away, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He walked toward class slowly, like if he moved slowly enough, the day might wait for him to catch up.

But deep down?

He already knew.

He was running out of time.

———

Paper skipped class.

Yeah. Not like him at all.

But he’d been crying. Hard. The kind of crying that made your chest hurt, that stole your breath, that made you want to throw up just to feel something different.

So he ran.

To the back stairwell, quiet, barely used, and collapsed behind the steps, knees pulled to his chest.

He didn’t care how cold the floor was.

Didn’t care how pathetic he looked.

He just cried.

Fists pressed into his eyes. Sleeves soaked. Face hot, wet, and blotchy.

The kind of crying that came in waves, each one crashing harder than the last.

His fingers fumbled in his backpack.

They found it easily.

The photo strip.

He stared at it through watery vision, thumb brushing the edges like it could rewind time.

“Stupid,” he whispered. “So stupid to think he actually wanted me.”

He wiped his face. It didn’t help.

The tears kept coming. Like something inside had cracked open and wouldn’t close.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

Not until a shadow fell across him.

Knife.

Of course it was Knife.

Paper flinched, scrambling to hide the photo strip. He wiped at his face even though it was way, way too late.

Knife squinted. “You okay?”

Paper didn’t answer.

He looked up just long enough for Knife to see the damage, swollen eyes, blotchy skin, trembling lip, then looked back down.

Knife raised an eyebrow. “Dude. You look like shit.”

A pause.

“…Wait. Why are you crying? Did you and OJ not get together or something? Did you break up after, like, a day?”

Paper’s throat clenched. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Then it hit him again.

Another wave.

He started crying even harder.

The can’t-breathe, chest-caving-in, fists-shaking kind of crying.

Knife blinked. “Whoa—okay, chill, chill.” He dropped down beside him, not too close, but there.

“We didn’t even get together,” Paper choked out. “He kissed me. He kissed me. And then he’s doing it again.”

Knife frowned. “Doing what?”

Paper wiped his face. Useless. “Shutting down. Pretending if he ignores it, it’ll go away.”

Knife nodded slowly. “Ah.”

“I don’t get it,” Paper whispered, hoarse from crying. “He said he liked me. He held my hand. He looked at me like it meant something. And now he won’t even talk to me.”

He pulled out the photo strip again, holding it up like proof. “We were happy. For one second. And then he just… dropped me.”

Knife looked at the photo. “You guys do look stupid cute in that.”

Paper let out a half-sniffle, half-laugh.

“Thanks,” he muttered, miserable.

Silence.

Then Knife added, quieter, “You know he’s probably freaking out too, right? He’s not ignoring you because he doesn’t care. He’s ignoring you because he’s scared shitless.”

“I know,” Paper whispered. “That’s the worst part. I know he’s scared. But I can’t keep waiting for him to get over it. I’m not his warm-up phase. I’m not a secret he can hide forever.”

Knife looked at him.

Then, surprisingly soft: “You’re right.”

Paper blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I said you’re right. Don’t make me say it again.” Knife leaned back. “He’s being an idiot. If I were you, I’d punch him in the throat.”

Paper smiled. Barely. But it was there.

“Tempting.”

Knife shrugged. “You don’t deserve to be treated like a backup plan. Not by anyone. Not even him.”

A long pause.

Paper stared down at the photo again. His hand trembled.

“…What do I do?”

Knife tilted his head back.

“You give him one more chance to stop being stupid. Just one. Not two. Not three. And if he blows it?”

A beat.

“You walk.”

Paper swallowed.

It hurt.

But he nodded.

Because maybe… that was what he needed.

A limit.

Even if his heart didn’t want one.

———

A few periods later. OJ sat in math, staring blankly at the board.

He should’ve been paying attention. Notes were on the screen. The teacher was talking.

But OJ’s brain was somewhere else entirely.

He reached into his backpack for his notebook.

And something fluttered to the floor.

The photo strip.

He didn’t even realize he tucked it between his notes.

It landed face-up on the tile.

Before he could grab it, Marshmallow leaned over and picked it up.

“Hey, OJ, you dropped—” she started.

Then froze.

She stared.

Hard.

Her eyes widened.

“OH my GOD,” she gasped. “You kissed Paper?!”

OJ’s blood turned to ice. “What did—?”

He turned around—

Too late.

She was holding up the last frame. The kiss.

Clear as day.

“You—!”

“Shhh!” OJ lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Do not say anything. Give that back.”

Marshmallow handed the photo back, wide-eyed.

Then smirked. She leaned in, still too loud. “You kissed Paper?! When?! I’ve missed so many chapters—”

OJ hissed, “Can you not—”

Paintbrush, who sat nearby, turned around. “What’s going on? What’s with all the whisper-yelling?”

OJ looked at Marshmallow: don’t.

Marshmallow bit her lip. Then: “He kissed Paper.”

Paintbrush stared. “WHAT?!”

OJ groaned, slumping in his seat. “Oh my god.”

“So something did happen at the mall,” Paintbrush said. “And you didn’t tell me? Me? Your emotionally available friend?”

“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” OJ muttered.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Paintbrush replied.

Marshmallow leaned in, eyes glittering. “So? Are you guys together now?”

OJ hesitated.

He could lie. Laugh it off. Say it was a joke.

But he was tired of lying.

“I—yeah. We kissed.”

Paintbrush raised an eyebrow. “Okay. But… you look miserable.”

OJ sighed. “Let’s just say I got scared. Told him not to talk about it. And now he’s upset. Really upset. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

Paintbrush looked at him for a long second. “Jay…”

“I know,” OJ said. “I messed up. I know I did.”

Silence. Then:

“You still have time to make it right,” Paintbrush said quietly.

OJ looked down at the photo.

Paper’s smile. That light in his eyes.

“I just… I don’t want to lose him.”

Marshmallow squeezed his arm. “Then don’t.”

———

Paper sat on the edge of the courtyard, away from everyone else.

Knife beside him. Casual as ever.

“Should I text him?” Paper asked. “Or just walk up to him?”

Knife didn’t hesitate. “Walk up. Texting gives him time to rehearse some emotionally repressed garbage. You want it raw.”

Paper blinked. “He’s not like that.”

Knife: “He invented that.”

Paper crossed his arms. “He means what he says.”

“I know. That’s not the problem. The problem is he won’t say it until you drag it out of him.”

Paper sighed. “…You’re right.”

“Duh.”

Another beat.

“Okay,” Paper said. “After school. I’ll find him.”

Knife nodded. “Good. Don’t hold back.”

Paper gave a tiny smile. “I won’t.”

———

At lunch OJ sat with Lightbulb and Paintbrush. OJ picked at cold fries, looking like a depressed puppy.

Paintbrush looked exasperated. Lightbulb… was eating shredded lettuce with chopsticks.

“I just don’t understand why I keep messing this up,” OJ said. “Why I get so scared. Why I run.”

Paintbrush rested their chin on their hand. “Then let us help. And you’re going to talk to him, right?”

OJ nodded. “Yeah. After school. I’m going to talk to him.”

Lightbulb flung lettuce. “I want to help too!”

Paintbrush sighed. “Hun, please don’t.”

Lightbulb stood on the bench. “Step one: Cry. Not an ugly cry. Artful cry. One tear, dramatic. Step two: Take his hand and say, ‘You’re the reason my heart sounds like a drum solo in the rain.’”

OJ blinked. “What—?”

Paintbrush rolled their eyes, laughing slightly. "Lightbulb, you really need to stop watching those dumb Netflix shows.”

“But they're such a huge help! I've learned so much! Mainly that silence is the worst thing! People fill in the blanks with the worst possible story.”

OJ froze.

That one hit.

Paintbrush softened. “She’s not wrong.”

Lightbulb beamed. “Thank you.”

“So,” Paintbrush asked gently, “what are you actually going to say?”

OJ took a breath. “I’m going to tell him the truth. That I got scared. That I didn’t mean to hurt him. That I want to fix it, if he’ll let me.”

Paintbrush smiled. “Good. Be real. He doesn’t need perfect. He needs you.”

Lightbulb raised her chopsticks. “Go win your gay little war, soldier.”

OJ laughed, for real this time.

And maybe… for the first time all day…

He believed he could.

———

The final bell rang, but neither of them made it far.

Paper was already storming down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest. His hands were balled into fists in the sleeves of his hoodie, and his eyes stung, not from crying now, but from holding it in.

And down the opposite end, OJ rounded the corner in a blur. His breath caught the second he saw him.

They both froze when their eyes met.

Silence. Just for a second.

Then they both spoke at once:

“We need to talk—”

“I have so much to say—”

They stopped.

Paper lifted a hand. His voice wavered, but it was steady enough.

“Let me speak first.”

OJ didn’t argue. He nodded, lips pressed tight, and stood there. Bracing himself.

Paper took a breath. Then another. And finally, he broke.

“I was ready to give up on you.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“I was done.” He stepped closer, the weight behind his words building with every sentence. “Because I can’t keep being the only one who’s showing up. I can’t keep giving everything and getting silence back.”

OJ opened his mouth, but Paper kept going.

“No. No interruptions. You said I could speak.”

OJ shut his mouth again.

Paper’s voice was shaking now. “You kissed me, OJ. You held my hand like it meant something. And then the moment people looked, you dropped me like I was something to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not,” he added, barely holding back the tears. “I’m not something to hide. I’m not something you can love in private and ignore in public.”

OJ’s eyes welled up. He didn’t try to wipe them away.

“I was scared,” OJ said hoarsely. “But not of you. I was scared of what it meant. Of… finally saying it. Out loud. In front of everyone. Like once I admitted it, I couldn’t take it back.”

He let out a shaky breath. “And I didn’t want to take it back. But my brain just… froze. Like it always does.”

Paper’s lips trembled. “You didn’t even text me back.”

OJ looked down at the floor. “I didn’t know what to say. Everything I thought of sounded like an excuse.”

“Then you should’ve said anything,” Paper said. A tear slipped down his cheek. “You should’ve tried.”

“I know.” OJ’s voice cracked, quiet and desperate. “God, Paper, I know. I was wrong. I was so scared I’d mess it up, and I did it anyway. And that’s on me.”

“I skipped half my classes because of you,” Paper whispered, voice raw now. “I cried in a stairwell because of you.”

OJ’s face crumpled. He stepped forward, eyes pleading.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like that. You didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

Paper shook his head. “You broke my heart, and you had it for one day.”

OJ’s eyes filled again.

“I didn’t mean to. I swear. I thought… if I pretended I could control it, I wouldn’t fall so hard. But I already had. I have. I’m in love with you.”

Paper stared at him. His breath hitched.

OJ stepped closer. “I love you. I didn’t know how to say it then. I still don’t know if I’m saying it right. But I do.”

Paper didn’t move. He was crying now, quietly, but openly. No more hiding it.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “And that’s why it hurt so much.”

OJ nodded, his own tears falling freely now. “I know. And I want to fix it. I want to do better. I want to be better. For you. Not just when no one’s watching. Always.”

There was a long pause.

Then, slowly, Paper reached out.

He didn’t say anything. Just held out his hand.

And this time, OJ took it.

Tight. Firm. Like it meant something.

Like he meant it.

They didn’t talk as they walked out of the building together, still holding hands. The hallway faded behind them. The outside air felt colder than before, but not in a bad way.

They walked all the way to the corner of Paper’s neighborhood without letting go.

The sun was low in the sky now, warm and golden.

“Can I walk you home?” OJ asked softly.

Paper smiled.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t let go.

———

They walked the whole way to Paper’s house without letting go.

By the time they reached his front steps, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting everything in golden light.

When they finally stopped, OJ waited.

Waited for Paper to let go of his hand first.

But Paper didn’t.

They stood there, fingers still intertwined, just looking at each other. Searching. Like neither of them wanted to be the one to say goodbye first.

“Well…” Paper said softly, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

OJ nodded. “Yeah.”

Paper slowly turned to go, taking a step toward the door—

But OJ tugged his hand gently.

“Paper, wait.”

Paper turned back. “Hm?”

OJ swallowed hard.

“Can I… can I kiss you?”

Paper stepped closer.

And said, quiet but certain, “OJ, you never have to ask.”

OJ's heart stuttered.

Then Paper leaned in.

And OJ met him halfway.

It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t dramatic. Just a kiss—soft, slow, and sure. Like an apology. Like a promise.

Paper’s hand slid up to OJ’s cheek, thumb brushing just under his eye. OJ’s shoulders sank, the tension bleeding out of him as he leaned into the touch.

When they pulled apart, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Thank you,” OJ whispered.

Paper smiled against him. “For what?”

“For waiting,” he said. “For not giving up.”

Paper brushed his nose gently against his. “I almost did.”

“I know,” OJ breathed. “And I’m sorry it took me so long.”

A pause.

Then Paper said, soft and firm, “Just don’t make me wait again.”

“I won’t,” OJ promised.

And this time, he meant it.

They lingered for a few more seconds, holding on, just in case the world tried to pull them apart again.

Then, finally, Paper stepped back.

“I should go,” he said. “My mom’ll think I got kidnapped.”

OJ laughed. “Fair.”

He started down the steps, then stopped again.

“Text me when you get home?” Paper called after him.

OJ turned, smiling. “Already planning to.”

Chapter Text

OJ kicked his shoes off the second he stepped inside, the soles hitting the wall with a dull thump. His backpack followed, sliding off his shoulder and landing in a heap by the door.

The house was quiet, just the low hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen and the soft, distant murmur of the TV in the living room. Some game show his parents half-watched out of habit.

He stood still in the hallway for a moment, letting the silence settle around him like a weighted blanket. The cool air wrapped around his skin, and for once, he didn’t feel like he had to brace himself. His chest wasn’t tight. His head wasn’t spinning. It was quiet, and he could breathe.

For the first time in what felt like forever, it didn’t feel like the world was caving in.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up with the familiar chat. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment, like maybe the words wouldn’t come, or maybe he’d say the wrong thing.

But then he just… typed.

itsmeoj [6:20 P.M.]

Made it home safe. ❤️

He hit send before he could overthink it.

And for once, that felt okay.

———

Paper was flopped across his bed, one leg hanging off the edge, sock half-on, scrolling through Instagram with zero brain cells activated. The usual: some recycled memes, three selfies from somebody in his English class with captions like “real love is loyalty,” and a video of a cat screaming into a bowl of cereal.

He was just about to set the phone down and go downstairs when the screen lit up.

itsmeoj [6:20 P.M.]

Made it home safe. ❤️

He blinked.

Then smiled. Immediately, involuntarily, like his face didn’t ask for permission.

It wasn’t even a big message. Just a few words. But they sent a soft warmth curling up in his chest anyway, slow and steady, like the kind that sneaks up on you and makes everything feel a little less heavy.

He rolled onto his back, phone still in his hand, and typed quickly:

justpaper [6:21 P.M.]

Glad to hear! call l8r? I’m about to eat. 🙃💗

The reply came almost instantly.

itsmeoj [6:21 P.M.]

duhh, text me when dinner’s over. 😊

Paper bit his lip, trying to bite down the full smile that had taken over his whole face. He set the phone down on the pillow next to him like it was something delicate, something precious, and just stared at the ceiling for a second.

He didn’t even mind having to go to dinner now.

Because when he came back upstairs, someone would be waiting.

Someone who had texted first this time.

———

As soon as Paper finished eating, he ran upstairs to quickly get ready and called OJ.

He meant to text first, like they’d said, but honestly? He couldn’t wait.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Then:

“Hello?” OJ’s voice came through, warm and steady.

“Oh my god, you actually picked up,” Paper said with a breathy little laugh.

OJ chuckled. “Of course I did. You told me to. So… how was dinner?”

“Quiet,” Paper replied, flopping back onto his bed. “My mom wasn’t feeling too well, so we just ordered pizza. Low effort, high cheese.”

“Pizza’s always a win,” OJ said. “At least it’s predictable.”

“Yeah. Unlike people,” Paper teased lightly.

OJ laughed under his breath, but it faded fast. There was a pause. A soft one. Not uncomfortable, just… real.

Then OJ spoke again, quieter now. “I know it’s only been a couple hours, but… I missed your voice.”

Paper smiled, heart twisting a little. “Well, we didn’t exactly talk today. So that’s reasonable.”

Another pause followed. But neither of them minded it.

Even through the silence, they were still together. Still connected. And in some ways, that mattered more than anything they said.

Then something pulled at OJ’s chest again.

“Hey, Pay?”

“Mm?”

“I’m sorry. Again. I know we already talked, but I can’t stop feeling guilty. I just… I wish I hadn’t shut you out like that. I wish I had everything figured out already, and I’m—”

“OJ,” Paper cut in gently, “You don’t have to keep saying sorry.”

“But—”

“No. Listen.” His voice was soft but steady. “Yeah, it hurt. But I know you’re trying. I see that. You’re here now, and that’s what matters. So stop beating yourself up, okay? We’ll get through it. Together.”

OJ nodded instinctively, even though Paper couldn’t see it.

Paper smiled when the silence stretched again. “So… is that a yes?”

OJ blinked. “A yes to what?”

“To trying again,” Paper said. “To us.”

“Oh,” OJ breathed. “Yeah. It’s a yes.”

Paper let out a tiny laugh. “Good. So… slow and steady?”

“Yeah. I think I need that.”

Paper hesitated a second, then asked, “Okay. So what’s next?”

OJ paused. “I… I don’t really know.”

“Well, I’m not asking for full-on PDA or anything,” Paper said, “but… do you think we could start telling people? Like, Pickle, Bomb, Paintbrush—”

“So, funny story…” OJ cut in. “Paintbrush already knows. And Lightbulb. And Marshmallow.”

Paper blinked, then burst into laughter. “You’ve already told three people?”

“It wasn’t on purpose! Marshmallow saw the photo strip and kind of… freaked out. And then Paintbrush got involved. And then Lightbulb gave me this whole speech about winning my ‘gay little war.’ It was chaotic.”

“Oh my god,” Paper wheezed. “You couldn’t even go one day without telling the class.”

“Technically, they guessed.”

“Still counts.”

There was a pause as they both laughed, and Paper added, “Yeah, so… Knife kind of knows too.”

“Wait, what?!”

Paper sighed dramatically. “Kind of had a breakdown in the stairwell today. Knife just… happened to find me.”

OJ’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know why it still hit so hard. He’d already apologized and already owned it. But knowing how deeply Paper had been hurting made it all feel sharp again.

“Paper, I’m—”

“Nope,” Paper cut in again. “Don’t say it. We already agreed. You’re here now, remember?”

OJ swallowed back the lump in his throat. “Right.”

There was another pause. Not awkward this time, just quiet. Careful.

Then Paper said, gently shifting the conversation, “Okay, but… should we tell Pickle and Bomb next?”

OJ let out a tiny laugh of relief. “Oh my god, how did we forget Pickle? That’s a crime. He was the one who tried setting us up in the first place.”

“Oh my god, did I ever tell you he made a ship name for us?”

OJ practically gasped. “He what?”

“Yeah… Payjay. Or something stupid like that.”

“There is no way.”

“It’s real. He said it like, unironically.”

“That’s so embarrassing.”

“For you,” Paper joked. “I kind of love it.”

OJ groaned. “Please never call us that again.”

“Too late, Payjay’s canon.”

“Noooo—”

They both dissolved into quiet giggles.

And eventually, the call softened again, less urgent, more sleepy. The kind of late-night conversation where everything slows down and nothing hurts as much as it did earlier.

They stayed like that a while longer. Talking about little things. Their plans for the weekend. Whether or not they had to actually study for science. All the stupid high school stuff.

And then eventually, after the laughter faded and the pauses grew longer—

“Hey,” Paper whispered, voice barely above a breath. “I’m really glad you called.”

OJ smiled into his pillow. “Me too.”

“Goodnight, Jay.”

“Goodnight, Pay.”

Neither of them wanted to hang up.

But when they finally did, they both fell asleep smiling.

And for the first time in days…

Neither of them felt alone.

———

The next morning, they both woke up earlier than usual.

No snooze buttons. No dragging themselves out of bed. Just a quiet kind of anticipation that made getting ready feel a little easier.

For the first time in weeks, both of them made it to school early, like they used to. Like they meant to.

And this time, they were meeting on purpose.

Paper spotted OJ first, standing just outside the front entrance with his hands tucked into his pockets, gently bouncing on his heels. There was something different about him this morning, lighter. Still a little nervous, maybe, but not in a bad way.

Paper smiled and walked over, calling out, “Hey!”

OJ looked up immediately and smiled wide when he saw him. He stepped forward so that Paper didn’t have to close the whole distance himself. “Good morning, Paper.”

Their eyes lingered for a second before they started walking side by side toward the school doors. The conversation didn’t start right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy this time. Just calm. Comfortable.

After a beat, Paper glanced over. “So… How’d you sleep last night?”

OJ grinned without hesitation. “Pretty great knowing I’d get to see your pretty face this morning.”

Paper instantly stopped in his tracks, face flushing. “Stop with the corny stuff.”

OJ smirked, slowing down to match him. “You liked it.”

“I’m allowed to like it quietly,” Paper muttered, cheeks still pink.

They reached the main doors, the buzz of other early students drifting past. Just before stepping inside, Paper paused and turned toward OJ, hands tightening slightly around the strap of his bag.

“So… what are we telling them today?” he asked, softer now. “We’re not exactly official, so I don’t know what to say if they ask.”

OJ hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. I mean… I guess we could say we kissed. That we’re figuring things out. Taking it slow.”

Paper searched his face. “Are you okay with that?”

OJ nodded. “I am. Especially if you’re the one saying it.”

Paper blinked. “Why me?”

“Because you’re better at talking,” OJ said. “And… I kind of want them to hear it from you. Feels safer that way.”

A slow smile spread across Paper’s face. “Okay. I can do that.”

OJ held the door open for him.

They walked in together, steps syncing without effort.

———

When they reached homeroom, OJ and Paper stepped inside together, side by side, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

There weren’t many students there yet, just the usual early birds, which meant the room was still quiet enough to feel calm. Peaceful, even.

They slipped into their usual seats, across the aisle from each other, and settled in.

They didn’t talk much, not out loud at least. But the stolen glances across their desks? The soft smiles? The way they kept looking at each other like there was a secret only they knew?

Yeah. That said more than enough.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Pickle strolled in, looking like he’d fought a war just to roll out of bed. His hoodie was half-zipped, pajama pants still on, and he was eating a granola bar.

He blinked at them both.

Then blinked again.

And squinted.

“…Okay. What’s going on?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Why do you two look like you just won the lottery? Wait. Did the science test get canceled?”

OJ snorted.

Paper glanced at OJ, silently asking for permission with just a look.

OJ gave the tiniest nod.

That was all Paper needed.

He practically lit up.

“Okay,” he said, practically bouncing in his seat, “so me and OJ kind of kissed the other day.”

OJ hid his face behind his hand, already blushing.

Paper continued, beaming, “We’re not official or anything yet, but… we’re figuring it out.”

There was a pause.

Then Pickle’s jaw dropped like someone had physically unhinged it.

“Oh my GOD,” he gasped. “FINALLY?! FINALLY?! IT ONLY TOOK, LIKE, A BILLION YEARS!”

OJ started laughing, the sound barely muffled behind his sleeve. Paper was grinning so wide it hurt.

Pickle sat down across from them, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it.

“No, seriously, I need a moment. You kissed. You. Kissed.” He pointed at both of them dramatically. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to make this happen?”

“We’re aware,” Paper said, smirking.

“And I’m honored,” Pickle added, placing a hand over his heart, “honored to be the first person you told.”

That’s when Paper and OJ made eye contact again.

One of those looks.

The kind that screamed: Do we tell him?

Pickle narrowed his eyes. “Wait.”

They didn’t say anything.

“Wait.”

Still nothing.

Pickle sat up straighter. “Don’t tell me.”

OJ winced.

Paper tried to look innocent. It didn’t work.

“You told someone else first?!” Pickle practically shouted. “ME?! The architect of Payjay? The original matchmaker?? The one who made the stupid ship name in the first place?!”

Paper started wheezing. “Oh my god, I feel bad, but this is also hilarious!”

“No, this is serious. I named the ship. That makes me the captain!” Pickle waved his arms. “Who’d you tell? Bomb?”

OJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Paintbrush. And Marshmallow. And Lightbulb. And… Knife.”

“Are you KIDDING ME?”

Paper patted his shoulder sympathetically. “We were going to tell you next. We swear.”

Pickle narrowed his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “But only if I get to be the best man at the wedding.”

OJ choked on air.

Paper burst out laughing.

“You’re insane,” Paper said, wiping his eyes.

“And you’re in love,” Pickle countered smugly. “Now scoot over. I need to know everything.”

———

The day went on faster than expected.

The three of them, OJ, Paper, and Pickle, walked down the hallway toward the cafeteria, weaving through the usual chaos of students cutting corners and sprinting for the last decent slice of pizza.

Pickle was vibrating with energy.

“No, seriously,” he said, eyes wide as he looked between them. “This is real. This is happening. You two finally kissed and decided to be a thing, or, like, a pre-thing, but still. Monumental.”

Paper smiled. “We’re figuring it out.”

OJ added, “It’s not official yet.”

Pickle practically waved them off. “Doesn’t matter. It’s happening. This is, like, season finale material.”

As soon as they stepped into the cafeteria, Pickle’s eyes zeroed in on Bomb sitting at their usual table, already halfway through a bag of chips.

“I have to tell Bomb,” he said, breaking into a light jog. “He’s going to lose his mind.”

Paper laughed. “I feel like we shouldn’t have told him.”

OJ just shook his head. “Too late. We did, and now we suffer.”

Pickle dropped his tray down next to Bomb with dramatic flair, nearly knocking over Bomb’s drink in the process. “Bomb. BOMB. You are not going to believe what just happened.”

Bomb blinked, startled. “P-Pickle? Wha-what’s going on?”

Pickle pointed over his shoulder at OJ and Paper, who were still walking toward the table.

“Payjay kissed. Like, lips. Contact. Canon. It happened.”

Bomb looked over at them, then back at Pickle. He blinked again.

“Oh,” he said. “Y-Yeah. I-I know.”

Pickle paused. “You… know?”

Bomb nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek awkwardly. “K-Knife told me. T-This morning. At lockers. H-He was like, ‘OJ and Paper are gross now,’ and I-I just assumed that meant they k-kissed or s-something.”

Pickle stared at him.

Mouth slightly open.

“…So I really was the last one to know.”

He slumped dramatically into his seat.

“This is betrayal,” he muttered. “I need to reevaluate every friendship I’ve ever had.”

OJ finally reached the table and dropped his tray beside Bomb’s, grinning. “I mean… you found out before Trophy.”

“We’re not even friends with Trophy!” Pickle cried.

“Exactly,” OJ said.

Paper was laughing as he slid into the seat across from them. “Pickle, we love you.”

“Not enough to tell me,” Pickle grumbled.

Bomb patted his arm gently. “I—I didn’t know either until t-today. P-Promise.”

“Fine,” Pickle said with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll let it slide. This time. But only because you guys are cute now.”

OJ raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“You were angsty before,” Pickle said. “Like, unspoken pining. Deep emotional repression. Lots of weird eye contact.”

Paper flushed, trying not to smile.

OJ just laughed and nudged his shoulder lightly. “You’re not wrong.”

For the rest of lunch Pickle went on and on about how he had waited for this moment forever.

During all the chaos, Paper and OJ sat close to each other, closer than they ever were before.

———

The rest of the school day went by quickly, and that was better for both Paper and OJ, as they didn’t see each other much throughout the day.

The rest of the school day went by fast, which was just as well; they hadn’t seen each other much, and the quicker it ended, the quicker they could meet up again.

Or so OJ thought.

He waited outside in their usual spot after school, bag slung over one shoulder, checking the door every few seconds. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Still no Paper.

He pulled out his phone, hoping for a message, and sure enough:

justpaper [2:47 P.M.]

Mr. C needs to see me after class. 😞

Go home without me. ❤️

OJ stared at the message. Like hell he was going home without him.

itsmeoj [2:48 P.M.]

Nope, I’m outside waiting. Take your time. 😊

And then… he waited.

While he did, he opened their chat and scrolled past the most recent texts, past the heart emojis and “good night” messages, all the way up to weeks ago. Late-night conversations. Dumb inside jokes. A picture Paper had sent of his cat curled on a math worksheet.

He kept reading, his smile slowly growing.

“You idiot,” OJ muttered under his breath. “You were so in love with him the whole time.”

His smile got even wider. “God, I love him so much.”

He didn’t even notice Paintbrush approaching until they spoke.

“Hey, OJ.”

He jumped a little. “Oh—hey, Paintbrush.”

Paintbrush squinted at him playfully. “Why do you look like a Disney character who just realized they’re in love?”

OJ flushed. “I was looking through our old texts.”

Paintbrush smirked. “Let me guess—Paper was flirting and you were being oblivious?”

OJ laughed. “Pretty much.”

They gave him a satisfied look. “Told you. I knew you two just needed time. You look… lighter.”

OJ shrugged, but he was still smiling. “I feel lighter.”

Paintbrush nodded. “Good. Keep going with that.”

And with that, they waved and headed off.

OJ barely had time to tuck his phone back into his pocket before he saw someone coming toward him from across the lawn.

“Hey!” Paper called, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

OJ smiled. “There you are.”

“You waited?” Paper said, a little breathless. “I told you to go home.”

OJ just shrugged. “I didn’t mind. I like walking you home.”

Paper rolled his eyes fondly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yep. And holding your hand now, too.”

Before Paper could reply, OJ reached out and took his hand. Paper looked surprised, but the way his cheeks flushed was answer enough.

“…Okay then,” Paper said softly.

They started walking, their hands swinging slightly between them. The sky was cloudy but not cold, the wind tugging softly at their sleeves. For a while, neither of them said anything, and it was perfect.

Eventually, OJ broke the silence. “So… what did Mr. C need you for?”

“Oh.” Paper laughed dryly. “Just wanted to talk about my last essay. Said it was too ‘emotional’ for a history paper. Whatever that means.”

“That sounds like something he’d say,” OJ said, squeezing his hand gently.

They turned the last corner to Paper’s block, and Paper slowed his steps just a little.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said suddenly, glancing at OJ. “I know it’s not official or anything yet, but…”

OJ tilted his head. “But?”

Paper bit his lip, nervous. “I think I want to take you on a date.”

OJ blinked. “Wait—you’re asking me out?”

“Well—” Paper stumbled over his words. “I mean, we don’t have to call it a date. Could just be a hangout. Just me and you. No group. No Lightbulb yelling at us from across the food court. Just us. Friday?"

OJ stopped walking.

Paper looked back at him. “Is that okay?”

OJ’s grin spread from cheek to cheek. “Yeah. That’s more than okay.”

Paper grinned back, face glowing pink. “Cool. I’ll plan something.”

OJ chuckled. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love it,” Paper teased, bumping his shoulder.

OJ didn’t deny it. He just laced their fingers tighter.

———

That night before Paper went to bed, he wanted to plan out the whole date.

Paper lay cross-legged on his bedroom floor, a stack of old notebooks and pens spread out around him like he was plotting something criminal. His phone was beside him on speaker, soft music playing while he scribbled furiously in his usual cramped handwriting.

There was a mini itinerary now. With options. And a little arrow pointing to “sunset = good lighting??”

He groaned and fell back against the carpet, staring at the ceiling fan spinning overhead.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Not a big deal. It’s just a hangout. A very emotionally significant, one-on-one hangout with someone I maybe definitely love.”

He sat up again and looked at his paper.

At the top in pink ink:

“Friday w/ OJ 💗”

Under it:

• walk to the park.

• bring snacks?? (not too much though)

• maybe stop by the little coffee place he likes.

• blanket for the grass.

• music playlist? (not sad songs!!!)

• sunset = bonus points

• HOLD. HIS. HAND.

Paper squinted at that last one, then circled it three times.

"Okay," he said, breathing out, "let’s do this."

He picked up his phone, heart thudding harder than it needed to, and hit call.

OJ answered almost immediately, a soft yawn in his voice. “Hey, Paper.”

“Hey,” Paper said, clearing his throat. “Are you busy?”

“Just thinking about you. So… no,” OJ replied, and Paper could hear the grin in his voice.

Paper groaned. “Stop. I’m trying to be serious.”

“Okay, okay,” OJ laughed. “What’s up?”

Paper sat up straighter, holding the notepad in front of him like a script. “So. For Friday. Our hangout—I made a plan.”

“I’m listening,” OJ said, now sounding more alert.

Paper spoke fast, trying to keep it casual even though his ears were burning. “Okay, so I figured we could go to the park, the one near the edge of town, you know, the one with the hill and the weird statue of the goose that looks cursed—”

“Oh my god, yes,” OJ cut in, “I love that park. That goose is terrifying.”

“Exactly!” Paper said, excited now. “So I thought maybe we could walk there after school and grab something small to eat on the way, like that little coffee place, the one with the good muffins? Then just hang out on the hill and maybe stay till sunset. I’ll bring a blanket.”

OJ was quiet for a second. Then, softly: “That sounds really perfect.”

Paper looked down at the paper again, chewing on his lip. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s you,” OJ said. “So no. It’s just right.”

Paper couldn’t stop himself from smiling, even as he flopped dramatically onto his bed again. “Okay, good. I was low-key spiraling about it.”

“Pay?”

“Hm?”

“I really like hearing you plan stuff with me in it.”

That earned a full-on groan from Paper. “You are the worst.”

“You love it.”

Paper grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest. “...Maybe.”

There was a pause. Just the sound of both of them breathing, the phone connection soft and warm between them.

Then Paper said, quieter, “I’m excited for Friday.”

“Well, we still have tomorrow… and Thursday. Friday is forever away; I can't be excited yet,” OJ replied.

“Ugh,” Paper said, in a teasing matter. “Shut up. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Pay.”

“And don’t forget—Friday we’re meeting by the front gates, okay?”

“Got it. Blanket, muffins, haunted goose statue. Sounds like a plan.”

“Great! Don’t forget.”

And with that, they hung up.

Paper looked down at his wrinkled paper, then drew one last thing before putting it away:

A little heart.

Labeled:

“us.”

Chapter Text

Friday came quicker than expected.

Well… not really.

Paper and OJ wanted it to come quicker. They had counted down the days, stared at the clock during class, and scrolled through their messages a hundred times looking for hidden meaning. And now it was here.

Paper waited at the front gates, exactly where he said he’d be.

He stood around for a bit, tapping at his phone even though there were no new notifications. Then paced. Then checked the time again. Then he leaned against the wall and stared at nothing, his mind buzzing with a thousand what-ifs.

What if OJ bailed?

What if he changed his mind?

What if that night didn’t mean as much as Paper thought it did?

He was still debating whether or not to leave when a familiar voice called out, just loud enough to catch his attention.

“Huh? Paper? I thought you said front gate; I don’t see you anywhere!”

OJ was walking up from the side, clearly seeing him, a ridiculous smirk on his face as he dramatically looked around, hand over his eyes like a pirate searching for land.

Paper huffed out a laugh, already walking over.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, nudging OJ in the shoulder.

“Oh! There you are!” OJ gasped, clutching his chest. “I was beginning to think you stood me up.”

“Please,” Paper rolled his eyes, a small grin still on his face. “You’d survive five minutes without me.”

“Would I?” OJ teased. “I’m not so sure. I didn’t even get a hello. Or a hug.”

It was meant to be playful.

But Paper’s expression shifted, just barely. His smile faded, not into sadness exactly, but into something unsure. Like the walls around his words suddenly mattered again.

“I didn’t know if that was… okay,” he said, quieter now. “We’re not really sure where we stand right now, remember?”

OJ blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Yeah. That’s… true.”

For a few seconds, everything stalled. The noise of the campus faded to a blur. They stood there awkwardly, not touching, not talking, like the space between them had grown too loud.

Then Paper cleared his throat. “Well, I’m just going to go grab my stuff, okay?” he said gently.

OJ nodded. “Yeah. I’ll wait here.”

He watched as Paper walked back over to where he was standing, heart caught in his throat.

Because yeah, he hadn’t expected a hug either.

But suddenly, it felt like a lot more was riding on this day than he thought.

———

As Paper walked toward the building to grab his bags, he couldn’t stop replaying that moment at the gates.

The way OJ had looked at him, like he wanted to say something but didn’t. Like he was upset. Or confused. Or… something.

Paper rubbed at his temple as he walked.

“Did I make it awkward?”

“Was I being weird?”

“Why did it feel like he was about to say something and then didn’t?”

He sighed, adjusting the strap of his bag, and forced himself to shake it off. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to make it worse. He didn’t want this hangout to crash before it even started.

So he did what he did best; he smiled. Big. Bright. Almost annoyingly perfect.

He walked right back up to OJ like nothing had happened.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Paper said, grinning like a cartoon character.

OJ blinked at him for a second, clearly thrown off. “Oh. Alright. You lead!”

Paper nodded like everything was totally fine and started walking.

The sidewalk buzzed with late afternoon chatter, birds in the trees, cars rolling by, and someone’s bike chain rattling down the hill. The air was warm, not hot, the kind of weather where you could walk for hours and still feel okay.

Still, the silence between them lingered a little too long.

So of course, Paper broke it.

“You know we’re going to that coffee shop you like?” he asked, glancing sideways.

OJ looked over and gave a small nod. “I remember you told me that.”

Paper giggled a little under his breath. OJ noticed immediately. “What?” he asked, smiling without even realizing it. “What’s so funny?”

Paper looked at him, eyes soft. “I just remembered when I made you try Dunkin’ that one time… and you acted like I committed a federal crime.”

OJ gasped, loudly, dramatically. “Because it was a crime!”

Paper laughed.

“I still don’t get it,” he said through the laughter. “All coffee tastes the same to me.”

OJ looked like he might combust on the spot. “Okay, first of all, how dare you.”

“Second of all,” he went on, dramatically pointing ahead of them, “Dunkin’ is lazy. It’s like… nothing is made with love. Everything’s just dumped together and sad. But the place we’re going to? They put cinnamon on the whipped cream. Cinnamon, Paper. With purpose. With care.”

He paused, then looked over with a sheepish smile. “Do I sound crazy right now?”

Paper just looked at him, smile soft. “No. This makes so much sense.” He kicked gently at a crack in the sidewalk. “I like the way you think.”

OJ looked at him for a beat too long, eyes still holding something from earlier, something careful, but his smile returned, gentler now.

“Thanks.”

They walked in silence for a moment after that. But it wasn’t awkward anymore.

It was soft. Almost… peaceful.

Their shoulders brushed once, then again. Neither of them moved away.

———

As they neared the coffee shop, Paper slowed down just a little, squinting up at the sign like he hadn’t been there dozens of times before.

“This is the place, right?” he asked playfully.

OJ huffed. “You know it is.”

“I don’t know, just making sure I didn’t accidentally lead us to another soulless corporate chain.”

OJ made a face. “I will turn around.”

Paper laughed again and opened the door, letting OJ step in first.

The smell hit instantly: cinnamon, vanilla, espresso, and something warm and toasty. There was soft indie music playing in the background, the kind of playlist that made you feel like you were in a coming-of-age movie.

The lighting was soft, yellow, and gentle, casting little shadows on the walls. There were a few people scattered around: someone with headphones, someone scribbling in a sketchbook, and a couple laughing in the corner booth.

OJ loved it here. He always had. But now, walking in next to Paper, with Paper, it felt different. Warmer. Sweeter. Like maybe this wasn’t just a place to relax, but a place to remember.

Paper wandered toward the counter and immediately pointed at the menu like he’d never seen one before. “Wait. Wait, this one has cookie crumbles and whipped cream? Sold. I don’t even care what it’s called.”

“You’re getting dessert,” OJ muttered.

“I’m getting what I deserve,” Paper corrected, already digging for his wallet.

OJ ordered something simple. Warm, cinnamon. Reliable. The opposite of whatever sugar storm Paper just created.

They settled into a corner booth by the window. Paper pressed his knees up to the bench and leaned forward, elbow on the table, straw poking into the mountain of whipped cream.

“Are you going to judge my drink again?” he asked, fake-offended.

“I already did,” OJ replied, smirking.

“Good. Saves us time.”

OJ looked down at his cup. The cinnamon swirl had already started to fade into the foam, but it smelled like home. He took a small sip. Paper watched him, not even hiding it.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

OJ blinked. “My drink?”

Paper nodded. “Yeah. You always order the same thing.”

“I guess.” He looked at him, puzzled. “Why do you care?”

Paper shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “I don’t know. I just notice.”

OJ didn’t respond to that. He wasn’t sure what to say. His chest felt weirdly warm, not like the coffee, but heavier. Brighter. Like something had landed in there, and he didn’t have a name for it yet.

“You always act like you don’t care about this stuff,” OJ said, quietly.

Paper was still looking at his cup when he replied. “I care about you.”

It came out so easily that OJ nearly choked on his drink.

Paper’s eyes went wide. “Wait. I didn’t mean—okay, I did mean that, but not like—”

OJ laughed. A soft, real laugh. “You’re such a mess.”

“I am,” Paper agreed, sinking a little lower into his seat. “But I’m your mess, right?”

The words slipped out so fast, and Paper tried to cover it up with another sip from his drink, but OJ’s eyes were already locked on his.

There was a silence between them, not awkward. Not stiff. Just a moment where something buzzed in the air, like the words Paper said were almost too big to handle in daylight.

OJ looked at him then. Really looked.

The way Paper’s hair fell in his eyes. The way he cradled the cup like it was keeping him grounded. The way he kept trying to bite back a smile and failing every single time.

It was stupid how much he liked this.

He liked how Paper always knew what to say, even when he said it wrong. He liked that he tried too hard sometimes and didn't pretend he didn’t. He liked that their knees kept bumping under the table and neither of them moved.

He liked him.

More than liked.

But that thought wasn’t finished yet. It floated there, like a paper boat on still water, waiting for the current to carry it the rest of the way.

Paper broke the silence first. “I like it when it’s just us.”

OJ blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Paper was trying to sound casual, but his fingers were fidgeting with his straw wrapper now. “Everything feels lighter when it’s just you and me.”

OJ didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached across the table and plucked the wrapper from Paper’s hand, crumpling it and tossing it into the empty plate in the center like a tiny basketball shot. It bounced and missed.

Paper snorted. “You tried.”

OJ smirked. “You distracted me.”

They were still smiling when their hands met in the middle of the table again, by accident. But this time, neither of them pulled away.

Their fingers just... rested there. Touching. Warm.

And OJ thought, "Why does this feel like the best part of my week?"

He didn’t have the full answer.

Yet.

But he was getting close.

———

When they both finished their coffees, Paper was the first to get up, gently swinging his bag over his shoulder.

OJ followed with a small smile, grabbing his drink sleeve and tossing it in the bin on their way out. They both murmured a quiet “thank you” to the barista before stepping out into the soft orange light of late afternoon.

Paper turned, the corners of his mouth already tilted up. “I wanted to head over to the park and watch the sunset,” he said, hopeful. “But if you want to leave now, that’s okay too.”

OJ blinked. For a second, the world felt quieter. Like this decision meant more than just “yes” or “no.” Like maybe the park wasn’t just about the sunset; it was about something unspoken still waiting to happen.

He nodded quickly. “No, no. Let’s go! That sounds nice.”

Paper let out a relieved sigh, dramatically patting his bag. “Good, because I already packed like… a whole kit. Snacks. Tissues. A dumb little speaker. So we were going either way.”

OJ grinned. “So you assumed I wouldn’t say no?”

Paper tilted his head with mock innocence. “No. I knew you wouldn’t.”

And just like that, they were walking again.

The town was small enough that everything was only a few blocks away. Sidewalks were still warm from the sun, little tufts of green poked through sidewalk cracks, and storefronts glowed in pastel hues from the setting sky.

Paper walked close beside him, not touching, not even brushing, but close enough that OJ could feel his presence in every breath.

He didn’t want it to be quiet.

He didn’t want to miss this, whatever this was. Whatever they were.

“Hey, Pay?” OJ said.

Paper paused mid-step and turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

OJ opened his mouth. Closed it. Thought about saying something like “the weather’s nice” or “what’s your favorite dinosaur?” or “I had a dream about us once, and I woke up sad because it wasn’t real.”

Instead, he blurted, “Do you… always plan this much?”

Paper blinked, then smiled. “What do you mean?”

“This hangout,” OJ explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s like, you packed for a whole picnic. You even picked my favorite coffee shop.”

Paper raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. I wanted it to be… nice.”

OJ watched him. “For me?”

Paper laughed like it wasn’t a big deal, but his ears turned a little red. “Well, yeah. You deserve nice.”

OJ didn’t say anything. Just kept walking. He knew Paper was waiting for some kind of answer, or reaction, or teasing quip.

But OJ just… let that sit.

Because yeah. Paper always made things nice. Not just with snacks and speakers, but with his thoughtfulness.

The way he always remembered the little things. The way he never made OJ feel like too much or not enough.

And the more he thought about it, the more OJ realized: he wanted to kiss him again. But more than that…

He wanted to do this.

All of this.

Over and over. Every weekend. Every day if they could.

He wanted to call him his.

Before he could say anything, they reached the edge of the park. The trees cast long shadows across the grass, and the sky was dipping into that golden, glowy pink that looked like a painting.

Paper spotted a little hill near the middle of the field and pointed. “There,” he said. “Good view. Not too many people.”

OJ nodded, following close behind as they crossed the grass, sneakers crunching lightly over leaves and twigs.

They reached the top and dropped their bags. Paper spread out a small blanket, tossing down a few snacks like it was second nature. OJ watched him set up the speaker, then flop down dramatically with a sigh.

“Ta-da,” Paper said. “Now we vibe.”

OJ sat down beside him.

The air was warm. The sky was glowing. The whole world felt soft.

And OJ looked at him, really looked at him, and thought, “Yeah. I want this. I want him.”

———

They sat quietly on the grass, the colors of the sunset painting long streaks of orange and pink across the sky in front of them.

It should’ve been peaceful; it was peaceful, but OJ’s head was spinning.

He’d spent the whole week trying to push down the feelings that were clawing their way out of him. It was easier before, when things were unclear, when they were “just seeing where it goes.” But now?

Now he was sure of what he wanted. Or, almost sure. The feelings were too loud to ignore.

He glanced over at Paper.

The light hit his face in the softest way, casting warm shadows that made him look like something from a movie.

His eyes were fixated on the sky, completely unaware that OJ couldn’t stop staring.

How was it possible to look at someone and feel so… certain? Even when he wasn’t sure what came next?

OJ leaned back on the blanket and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Paper looked down at him, a small smile curling at his lips. He flopped back beside him, shoulder brushing against OJ’s.

He turned his head slightly. “Hey.”

OJ turned to face him too and couldn’t help but smile. “Hey…”

“Got bored of the sunset already?”

OJ shook his head. “Nah… just thinking.”

Paper raised an eyebrow, amused. “Dangerous.”

OJ huffed a laugh but didn’t answer right away.

Paper rolled to his side, facing him more fully now. “Thinking about what?”

OJ hesitated. He could say it. He could just say it. But it caught in his throat.

Instead, he asked, “When did you start having feelings for me?”

Paper blinked, surprised by the question. Still, he answered easily. “Back in eighth grade. Freshman year, really.”

OJ’s brows lifted. “Why?”

Paper stared at the sky for a second before answering. “That year was hell. My parents were splitting up; everything felt tense at home. Me and Knife… well, you know how messy that was. I felt like nobody really saw me. Everyone just thought I was weird. A freak.”

His voice got quieter. “And then one day I saw you sitting alone at lunch, and I went over. You didn’t treat me like some rumor. You didn’t look at me like I was gross. You just… talked to me. Like I mattered.”

He sat up slowly, hugging his knees. “I think I fell in love with that feeling. Feeling safe. Feeling normal. Or… maybe not normal, but understood.”

OJ sat up too, listening more closely than he ever had.

Paper added, barely louder than a whisper, “No one ever made me feel like that before.”

OJ swallowed hard. His heart was pounding now. “Woah…”

Paper turned to him. “Your turn. When and why?”

OJ blinked. “Oh. Uh… freshman year too, probably. But I didn’t get it then.”

Paper tilted his head with a small smile. “Yeah?”

“I mean—I always knew I cared about you. But the why?” OJ sighed, suddenly self-conscious. “I guess because… You never gave up on me. I’ve always been kind of a mess. Not in a dramatic way, just… I get overwhelmed easily. I shut down. People don’t really get that. But you? You always wait. You never push too hard. You listen. Even when I’m being complicated.”

Paper watched him quietly, and OJ’s voice dropped a bit.

“I used to feel like I had to hide who I was. But when I’m with you, it’s like… I don’t have to pretend anything. You make it easy to be myself.”

He glanced over, and his heart skipped when he saw tears on Paper’s face.

“Wait, did I say something wrong?”

Paper laughed through his tears and wiped his cheek. “No! No, it’s just, no one’s ever said stuff like that to me before. Not like that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, just watching the final light of the sun sink beneath the horizon.

OJ’s hand inched toward Paper’s. Slowly, his pinky brushed Paper’s.

Paper didn’t hesitate. He laced their fingers together.

OJ smiled so wide it hurt.

They leaned back together again, lying side by side with hands clasped between them. The air was cool now, but OJ didn’t feel cold. Not at all.

“Jay,” Paper said softly.

OJ turned his head. “Hm?”

Paper looked at him with that familiar look, the one that made OJ’s chest ache. “Like I said… I know we aren’t official or anything. I know you’re still figuring things out. But I love you. And I’m willing to wait, however long it takes.”

OJ stared at him. The words rang in his ears.

I love you.

He felt it in his whole body, like something inside him just clicked. But his brain still hesitated. Not out of fear anymore. Just nerves. Wanting to get it right.

So instead of saying anything big or dramatic, he asked again, gently, “Paper, can I—?”

Paper cut him off with a tiny grin. “Jay, I told you. You don’t need permission to kiss me.”

OJ laughed under his breath, untangling their hands. He reached up, fingers brushing against Paper’s cheek like he was made of glass.

And he kissed him.

It was soft. Slow. Not rushed, not shy, but not casual either. It wasn’t like any of their other kisses.

It wasn’t a “we’re figuring this out” kiss.

It was an “I think I already know” kiss.

When they pulled apart, Paper was still smiling, a little dazed. OJ was too.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, OJ wasn’t overthinking.

He just wanted to stay here a little longer.

With him.

———

They sat there for just a little longer, the quiet between them so full it felt like it was breathing.

Paper’s head leaned gently on OJ’s shoulder. Their fingers still intertwined.

Then, reluctantly, Paper pulled back and sat up, blinking like he was waking up from a dream.

“Well…” he murmured, brushing hair from his face and reaching for his bag, “I guess we should get going. It’s getting late.”

OJ frowned immediately, deep and small, the kind you try to hide but can’t. He didn’t want this to end. Not yet. Not when it felt like his whole heart was finally starting to make sense.

He watched Paper roll the blanket up with practiced ease. OJ’s throat tightened. He didn’t want to go home.

Not without Paper. Not after that kiss. Not after what almost happened, what was still waiting to happen if he could just say it.

“Wait,” OJ said suddenly, before Paper could sling the bag over his shoulder.

Paper turned, brows lifted slightly. “Yeah?"

OJ hesitated. His fingers itched, and he started messing with the hem of his sleeve, then his hair, then back to his sleeve. “I… Did you want to… sleep over? Or something?”

There. He said it. Sort of.

Paper smiled, soft and sad all at once. “Jay, I wish I could. Really. I have some dumb family thing tomorrow, brunch or something. It’s early. I need to be up and out at like 7.”

OJ’s shoulders dropped. “Oh… okay.”

Paper stood up, stretching a little. “But,” he added, glancing back down at him, “you can walk me home.”

That made OJ smile again. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Paper didn’t wait; he reached down and grabbed OJ’s hand without asking, like it was natural. Like he’d done it a million times before.

And OJ didn’t say it. Not "I want to be your boyfriend.” Not "I think I’m already in love with you."

Just… “Okay.”

The walk back was slow. Paper didn’t rush, and neither did OJ. The sun had already disappeared, leaving behind warm streaks of color bleeding across the sky, like someone had smudged paint across a canvas.

They passed the elementary school, then the corner store, then the street with the cracked sidewalk. OJ thought about everything he wanted to say, and none of it came out.

Paper swung their hands gently between them. “Are you okay?”

OJ blinked. “Huh? Yeah. I’m good.”

Paper gave him a look, one of those looks, like, I know you better than that. But he didn’t push. “You’ve been quiet.”

OJ glanced sideways. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

OJ’s lips parted, like the words might fall out: I want you. I want this. I want everything.

Instead he said, “Us.”

Paper smiled. “Yeah?”

OJ nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Another almost.

They turned onto Paper’s street. His house was halfway down, porch lights already on. Paper slowed.

“I should text my dad. He gets weird when I’m not home by curfew,” he said, pulling out his phone.

OJ wanted to tell him he looked beautiful in the porch light. That this whole evening felt like a movie, and he didn’t want the credits to roll. But instead he just looked at his shoes.

Paper slid his phone back in his pocket. “Thanks for walking me.”

“Yeah,” OJ said quietly. “Anytime.”

They stopped at the bottom of the steps. Paper looked up at him, eyes a little tired, a little happy. “This was really nice.”

OJ nodded again, heart pounding. “Yeah. It was.”

Paper stepped closer, his hand still warm in OJ’s. He tilted his head slightly. “Can I—?”

“You don’t have to ask me for permission either,” OJ said, softer than before.

And they kissed again. This time it was slower. More careful. More like I’m holding something precious, and I’m terrified to drop it.

When they pulled apart, Paper rested his forehead against OJ’s. “I meant it, by the way.”

OJ blinked. “What?”

“When I said I love you.”

OJ swallowed, his voice catching in his throat. He almost said it. “Me too. I love you too.” But it sat heavy behind his teeth, afraid to come out half-baked.

So instead, he leaned forward and pressed one more kiss to the corner of Paper’s mouth. His way of saying, Don’t stop waiting for me.

Paper smiled, already backing toward the door. “Goodnight, Jay.”

“Night, Pay.”

And then he was gone.

OJ stood there for a second longer, watching the door shut. His heart ached in the nicest way.

He knew now.

Maybe he didn't know how to say it yet.

But what he wanted?

That part was finally clear.

———

His heart was racing. His thoughts were spiraling. But they were all swirling around the same thing: Paper.

He wanted him. He needed him.

Not just the hand-holding, not just the “accidental” cuddling, not just the way they looked at each other when no one was watching.

He wanted to call Paper his boyfriend. To make it official. Real. Whatever they had going on wasn’t enough anymore, not for OJ.

And there were so many moments he could’ve said something today. He almost had. But he didn’t. Every time, he chickened out. He let the moment pass.

He groaned into his pillow. “I’m such an idiot.”

Without really thinking, he opened his phone, tapped Paper’s contact, and typed:

itsmeoj [7:00 P.M.]

We need to talk.

And hit send.

It took two seconds for him to realize what he just did.

“OH MY GOD. Why did I say it like that??” He sat up in bed, gripping his phone like it betrayed him.

“That sounds so dramatic; he’s going to think I’m mad! Or dying! Or breaking up with him—wait, we’re not even dating?? OH MY GOD.”

Panic fully activated, he hit the call button for Paintbrush.

“Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up,” he whispered, pacing his room.

Click.

“Hello?”

“Oh my GOD, you answered. THANK GOD. I messed up so bad… like BAD bad,” OJ blurted out before they could even say hi.

“I just sent a message to Paper saying, ‘We need to talk,’ and it’s not even a bad thing, but it sounds bad, and he hasn’t viewed it yet, but WHEN HE DOES, he’s going to spiral, and then I’m going to spiral, and I only wanted to ask him to be my boyfriend, and now it looks like I’m breaking up with him even though we’re not even together—”

“OH MY GOD. Breathe!” Paintbrush snapped.

OJ practically choked on his inhale.

Paintbrush groaned. “Okay, first of all… why didn’t you just unsend the message?”

OJ paused. “…I… I dunno. That would’ve looked suspicious?”

“You could’ve said, ‘Oops, that was for my mom!’ or literally anything, dude!”

“I PANICKED.”

“Clearly.”

There was a pause. OJ sat down again.

“…Also,” Paintbrush continued slowly, “you’re telling me… you’re not already boyfriends?”

OJ groaned again, now lying flat on his back, dramatically draping his arm over his face. “No…”

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU’RE JUST FRIENDS WHO KISS SOMETIMES?”

OJ flinched. “We’re figuring it out—!”

“NO. No. You are playing with that boys feelings, OJ.”

“I know!” OJ wailed.

Paintbrush took a breath. “Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do. First, you call him. And you tell him that message was a misunderstanding.”

“Got it,” OJ nodded, already dreading it.

“But do not, and I repeat, DO NOT ask him out over the phone.”

“Why not??”

“Because you’re going to do it in person like a real person and not a sad little emoji boy.”

“…Emoji boy??”

“DO YOU WANT TO BE HIS BOYFRIEND OR NOT?”

“Yes!!”

"Then call him, chill out, and wait for your moment.”

OJ sighed, sitting up again. “Okay. Okay. I can do that.”

Paintbrush’s voice softened just a little. “You’ve got this, Jay. Seriously. You just need to stop being a coward.”

“I hate that you’re always right.”

“I know. Now tell me how it goes.”

OJ hung up. His stomach was still doing somersaults, but he knew what he had to do now.

He picked up his phone again.

Then he clicked Paper’s contact and pressed call.

Chapter Text

Paper jumped onto his bed and sank into the pillows, heart still racing from the night he’d just had. His cheeks hurt from smiling, but he couldn’t stop. Every little detail replayed in his mind: the way OJ had looked at him, the warmth of his hand, the way their laughter seemed to fit together so naturally. It hadn’t been official, not yet, but it had felt like the dream date with his dream man.

It was everything he could ever ask for.

Paper flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “This can’t be real,” he muttered to himself, a stupid grin tugging at his lips. “It can’t.”

Still, the giddiness bubbled up inside him, impossible to hold down. He sat up, grabbed his phone, and opened his messages.

A new text from OJ blinked on the screen.

“We need to talk.”

The smile vanished.

Paper froze, stomach dropping like a stone.

“Holy shit. No way. Is this… a cycle?”

His mind spun. Every time something good happened with OJ, something always came along to ruin it. To snatch it away. He should’ve known better than to think this time would be any different.

“Well… damn it. Guess it’s over. It’s never happening.”

He tossed the phone to the end of the bed, dragged a pillow over his face, and groaned.

The frustration burned for a second, but then it dulled, leaving him hollow. Honestly, he wasn’t even angry anymore. This was the pattern, wasn’t it? A good thing happens, something gets in the way, and then there is silence. Why even get his hopes up?

The silence didn’t last.

His phone buzzed again, rattling against the comforter. Paper sat up, heart hammering. He grabbed it without checking the caller ID and pressed it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Paper! You answered!” OJ’s voice spilled out, frantic and high-pitched, like he’d been holding his breath.

“Jay?”

“Yes! Paper, I—”

“Can you please explain that message?” Paper cut in, sharper than he meant to. “We can’t keep doing this, Jay.”

“Doing what?” OJ asked, genuinely confused.

Paper pressed a hand to his forehead. “You know what I mean. Something good happens, and then… it’s like you act like it didn’t. Like it’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen. Every time I start to feel like… maybe this could be real… you pull back.”

OJ went quiet, shoulders sagging on the other end of the line. “Oh… okay. I get it. First off, I’m sorry. The text… I worded it wrong. I didn’t mean it like that, and…”

He trailed off, Paintbrush’s voice echoing in his head: Don’t ask him out over the phone.

But how could he not? It was easier this way. He’d been waiting so long, too long, to say it.

Why hold it in any longer?

“Are you still there?” Paper asked, his voice softening, almost worried.

OJ let out a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah… just trying to figure out how to say this. Look, today, on our not-so-official date… something felt different. Looking at you, being with you, kissing you, and us being so open with each other made me feel a way I’ve never felt before. I mean, obviously, I knew I liked you, but tonight made me realize I want you. I… I need you to be mine, Paper.”

The room fell still. Paper’s pulse roared in his ears.

“Jay…” he whispered. “You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”

“Yes…” OJ said, ignoring Paintbrush entirely. “Paper… will you be my boyfriend?”

Paper’s breath caught. Then he laughed, nervous and giddy all at once. “No, Jay! I know what you mean, but… over the phone? Really?”

OJ muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Paper, “Paintbrush was right…”

Paper’s grin stretched wide, his heart pounding so hard he thought OJ might hear it through the line. But he wanted this moment in person. “Okay… you can’t do it over the phone,” he said, trying to sound stern, though his voice trembled with excitement. “It has to be special. We need a proper date. Face-to-face.”

OJ blinked, flustered. “Okay… uh… How about Monday after school?”

“Ew, Monday? Who wants to get asked out on a Monday?” Paper wrinkled his nose, already giggling. “Do it on Friday!”

OJ’s jaw dropped. “Friday?! You’re telling me I have to wait a whole week to make you mine officially?!”

Paper smirked, smug and playful. “Yep. And this is also a test. Let’s see how loyal you are.”

OJ groaned dramatically. “A test? Seriously?”

Paper winked, even though OJ couldn’t see him. “Friday it is. But until then… we pretend this conversation never happened. For now, we’re just friends. Okay?”

OJ sighed, long and exaggerated. “Fine… but Friday better come fast.”

“Tick-tock, boyfriend-to-be,” Paper teased.

———

MONDAY

OJ lingered by the lockers, fiddling with the strap of his backpack like it might snap off if he pulled any harder. Paintbrush leaned against the wall beside him, arms crossed, waiting patiently.

“You’re making that face again,” Paintbrush said flatly.

“What face?” OJ asked, voice an octave too high.

“The face that says, ‘I made a decision, immediately regretted it, and now I’m panicking because I know Paintbrush is going to roast me for it.’ That face.”

OJ groaned. “Okay, fine. You were right, alright? About the phone thing.”

Paintbrush raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Go on.”

“I…” OJ rubbed the back of his neck, ears pink. “I kinda… almost asked Paper out last night. Over the phone.”

Paintbrush didn’t even blink. “Kinda? Or did?”

“I did, okay?!” OJ hissed, then immediately buried his face in his hands. “I couldn’t help it; I just… it felt like the right moment, and he was laughing, and it was perfect, and—”

“—and then you completely ignored the one thing I told you not to do,” Paintbrush finished.

OJ peeked at them through his fingers. “Yeah.”

Paintbrush sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at their lips. “You’re lucky Paper’s smarter than you. Let me guess, he told you to do it properly?”

OJ dropped his hands, relief and embarrassment warring on his face. “Yeah. Friday. After school. He wants it to be, like… a thing. Official. Special.”

Paintbrush tilted their head, studying him. “And you’re actually going to go through with it this time?”

OJ swallowed hard. “I want to. I really, really want to. But…” He trailed off, kicking at the floor. “What if I mess it up?”

Paintbrush’s expression softened. “You won’t. Paper’s already waiting for you. All you have to do is show up.”

For the first time all morning, OJ let himself smile.

———

GROUP CHAT : Operation Payjay

pbpaintz [7:59 A.M.]
Guys, at lunch meet at the one table in the corner. I have to tell u all something.

brightestbulb [8:00 A.M.]
Okay ^^

pickleplayz [8:00 A.M.]
is it about Payjay…? Did it finally happen?!

pbpaintz [8:01 A.M.]
no but… we’re getting so close, like extremely…
just wait until lunch

brightestbulb [8:01 A.M.]
OMGG

pickleplayz [8:02 A.M.]
PAYJAY IS GOING TO BE CANON OMFG!

mrknifeguy [8:03 A.M.]
I literally just woke up pls stfu. 😁

pickleplayz [8:03 A.M.]
GET TO SCHOOL BEFORE LUNCH.
PAINTBRUSH HAS SOMETHING TO TELL US
ABOUT PAYJAY!!!!
I'M FINALLY GETTING WHAT I WANT!!!!!

mrknifeguy [8:04 A.M.]
oh my god.💀
okay I’m coming.

imdabomb [8:04 A.M.]
thats what she said!!

mrknifeguy [8:05 A.M.]
….
I’m blocking you.

pickleplayz [8:05 A.M.]
😭

pbpaintz [8:05 A.M.]
Oh
Anyways
The bell just rang pls get to class I’ll update u at lunch 🙃

pickleplayz [8:05 A.M.]
bruh I’m so impatient 🥀🥀

brightestbulb [8:06 A.M.]
i think it’ll be worth the wait trust 🙏

———

The cafeteria was its usual chaos: trays clattering, people shouting across tables, and someone’s soda fizzing over and soaking three napkins before they gave up entirely. In the middle of it all, Paintbrush plopped down at their group’s table like they had been waiting for this moment.

Pickle leaned forward immediately, eyes wide. “Okay, your text, I’ve been waiting ALL MORNING. Spill NOW.”

Paintbrush smirked, stabbing at their lunch with a plastic fork. “Oh my god! Patience, I just sat down!”

“I literally only got up and came here to hear this, so it better have been worth it.” Knife sighed.

While Paintbrush took their sweet time to say the news, Lightbulb was already making theories. “Okay, wait, so what if Paper and OJ eloped last night, had a secret wedding, and now they live in a cottage in the woods? Right? RIGHT?!”

Knife made a face. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Excuse me,” Lightbulb sniffed, tossing a grape in the air and catching it in her mouth. “That’s true love. If—”

Knife covered her mouth with his hand. “Okay, shut up. I get it!”

Pickle laughed, “He’s scared of real love and being cute. Anyways…”

The whole group turned to Paintbrush, who looked finally settled in.

Bomb was already leaning forward, eyes darting at Paintbrush. “W–w–w–well? T—tell us!”

Paintbrush took a very slow, calculated bite of their lunch and teased, “Hmm. I don’t know if OJ would want me to—”

“SPILL IT!” Pickle practically yelled, slamming his hands on the table so hard half the group jumped. He shoved his hair back and leaned closer. “I need to know. Paintbrush. Please. For science.”

Paintbrush finally sighed, leaning back. “Alright, fine!

The entire table leaned in at once.

“So… OJ called Paper last night,” Paintbrush started.

Pickle’s gasp was so loud half the cafeteria turned to look. “HE CALLED HIM?!” He smacked Lightbulb’s arm. “Lightbulb, do you hear this? He CALLED him!”

Lightbulb was vibrating in her seat. “I knew it. Oh my god, oh my GOD, they’re going to get married and have, like, three kids and a cat, and then—"

“Kill me,” Knife muttered, stabbing at his fries.

Paintbrush held up a hand. “Before you start planning their family tree, let me finish. He almost asked Paper out. Over the phone.”

Bomb covered his mouth like he’d just heard a state secret. “N–n–no w-way.”

Pickle grabbed the edge of the table. “He what?! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god… Paintbrush, please tell me Paper didn’t say yes like that; I’ll actually die—”

Paintbrush smirked. “Relax. Paper told him to wait. He wants it done properly. They’re going on a real, official date Friday after school.”

The table exploded.

Pickle shoved his chair back and stood up. “FRIDAY. DATE. FRIDAY DATE!!” He spun around in a circle before sitting back down. “Okay, sorry, I’m just, oh my god…” He buried his face in his hands, muffling his squeal.

Lightbulb kicked her legs under the table.

“This is huge. This is groundbreaking. This is history in the making. Future generations will study this moment.” Pickle leaned dramatically toward Knife. “You’re witnessing a love story for the ages.”

Knife didn’t even look up. “I’m witnessing you being annoying. Again.”

“O-oh, c’mon, K-knife,” Bomb stammered, grinning ear to ear, “Y–y–you c-can’t tell me y-you’re not e–even a little e-excited.”

Knife rolled his eyes. “…Maybe.”

Pickle dropped his hands, eyes sparkling. “Guys, do you realize what this means? OJ wants this. Paper’s been waiting forever, and now OJ’s actually, like, doing something about it! This is real. It’s happening. Operation Payjay is finally…” He slammed his fist on the table. “ACTIVATED.”

Lightbulb shrieked, clapping her hands. “ACTIVATED!!”

Bomb laughed so hard he nearly choked on his juice box. “O–oh my g-god, y-you guys a-are i–insane.”

Paintbrush shook their head, but there was a smile tugging at their mouth. “Insane or not, you heard Pickle. Friday’s the day. So everyone… Try not to mess this up.”

The table went quiet for half a second. Then Lightbulb leaned forward with a wicked grin. “Soooo… should we mess it up just a little?”

“NO!” Pickle, Bomb, and even Knife snapped at the same time.

Lightbulb just shrugged innocently. “What? I was only asking…”

———

The last bell rang, and the halls emptied in a rush of chatter and slamming lockers. Paper balanced his books against his chest, weaving through the crowd with that tired-but-happy look he always got after a long day. Just as he stepped outside, he spotted OJ leaning against the main entrance wall, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Jay?” Paper blinked. “You’re still here?”

OJ straightened up, ears going pink. “Uh… yeah. I was just… waiting.”

"For whom?" Paper teased, though the smile tugging at his lips already betrayed him.

OJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe for you.”

Paper stopped short, staring at him like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. Then, slowly, his grin spread. “Smooth, Jay. Real smooth.”

OJ groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine, that sounded way better in my head.”

Paper laughed, shaking his head as they started walking together. Their shoulders brushed once, then again, until it didn’t feel like an accident anymore.

“So… Friday, huh?” Paper asked lightly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

OJ let out a theatrical groan. “Don’t remind me. That’s four whole days from now.”

“Patience is a virtue.” Paper sing-songed.

“Yeah, well, whoever said that clearly wasn’t trying to wait a week for you,” OJ muttered under his breath.

Paper’s cheeks went warm, and he pretended to fumble with his books just to hide his smile. “Careful, Jay. Say stuff like that, and I might think you’re serious.”

“I am,” OJ said quietly.

That shut Paper up for a moment. The butterflies in his chest were doing full somersaults, but all he could manage was a soft laugh. “Good. Keep that energy for Friday, then.”

OJ bumped his shoulder against Paper’s. “Deal.”

They walked a little further in silence, the kind that felt comfortable instead of awkward. The sun was low enough to paint the sidewalk gold, and Paper found himself wishing the walk home would last longer.

When they reached the corner, they decided to depart there for today. “Guess this is me.”

OJ nodded, looking like he wanted to say something more but couldn’t quite get it out. Instead, he stepped closer, eyes flicking nervously between Paper’s and… well, Paper’s lips.

“Uh…” Paper blinked. “Jay?”

OJ swallowed, quickly pulling back from him, “I was just… you know… testing something.”

Paper froze, wide-eyed, and then laughed, pressing a hand to his chest like his heart had just leapt out of it. “Oh my god, you were about to kiss me!”

OJ’s ears went bright red. “N-No! I mean… maybe?”

Paper wagged a finger at him, grinning way too wide. “Ah-ah-ah. Friends don’t kiss, Jay. Remember? You have to wait for Friday!”

OJ groaned, throwing his head back. “You’re evil.”

“Evil and irresistible,” Paper shot back smugly, rocking back on his heels before turning toward his street. “See you tomorrow, bestie!”

OJ stood frozen on the corner, watching him walk away, and muttered to himself, “Friday cannot come soon enough.”

———

TUESDAY

Paper had just finished washing his hands when he spotted Knife down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, walking like he owned the place. 

He hesitated for half a second, then decided he wasn’t going to be that guy who pretended not to notice.

“Hey, Knife!” Paper called, raising a hand.

Knife turned, expression flat but not unfriendly, and gave a lazy wave. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Paper arched an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Knife stopped in his tracks, lips twitching before he groaned. “Okay, yeah. Fair.”

Paper grinned, brushing past him with a mock scoff. “Hypocrite much?”

Knife rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re hilarious.”

For a second, the air went awkward, like both of them were debating if that was the end of it. Paper was about to wave goodbye when Knife suddenly asked, “So… you and OJ on Friday, huh?”

Paper froze mid-step, whipping around. “What. How do you know about that?”

Knife smirked like he’d been waiting for this reaction. “OJ told Paintbrush. Paintbrush told us.”

“…Us?”

“The friend group. Pickle, Lightbulb, Bomb. You know. The usual circus.”

Paper groaned, throwing his head back. “Oh my god. Why would Paintbrush tell you guys?! I wanted it to be a surprise!”

Knife shrugged, casual as anything. “Maybe you should’ve told OJ not to blab. Once Paintbrush knows, everyone knows. You had to see that coming.”

Paper muttered, “Fair,” and crossed his arms.

Knife’s voice softened a notch, just enough to catch Paper off guard. “So… are you excited?”

Paper blinked at him, almost suspicious. But then his face warmed. “Well, yeah. Of course. I’ve liked OJ for a long time, and I was never sure he felt the same. Now he actually asked, and…” He let out a shaky laugh. “It’s been a crazy month, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Knife said quietly. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, eyes darting away. “You haven’t… dated anyone else since me, have you?”

Paper tilted his head, confused. “No. I mean, after our whole thing, it was hard to feel like I could be loved again, honestly. Then OJ came along, and… he made it easy to want something again.” He squinted. “Why do you ask?”

Knife’s shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “I dunno. Just… I’m proud of you, I guess. I know I wasn’t exactly… great back then. But seeing you move on, and us not hating each other anymore, it’s kind of nice. Makes me feel like maybe I didn’t ruin everything.”

That caught Paper off guard. His expression softened. “Knife… thanks. I’m proud of you too. You’ve changed. A little.”

Knife gave him a look. “Don’t push it.”

Paper laughed, and for a moment, it didn’t feel awkward at all.

Then a teacher rounded the corner. “Shouldn’t you two be in class?”

Paper and Knife exchanged a split-second glance before blurting out different excuses:

“Bathroom."

“Honors Society!”

The teacher gave them both a flat stare. “Right. Well, next time I catch you wandering, it’s detention.”

Knife groaned under his breath. “Awesome.”

“Won’t happen again!” Paper said quickly, putting on his best angelic smile.

The teacher walked off. As soon as they were out of earshot, Knife snorted. “Nice save, Mr. Honors Society.”

Paper grinned. “What can I say? I’ve got charm.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” But Knife’s smirk lingered, just enough to prove he didn’t mean it unkindly.

———

OJ and Paper walked side by side down the hall. They would have sat outside but they slowed when the cafeteria came into view, the noise practically spilling into the hallway.

“You know…” Paper started cautiously, “we haven’t sat with them in a while.”

OJ raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, because every time we do, the entire lunch turns into the Payjay Hour.”

Paper smirked, leaning close. “Come on, I doubt they’d do that again. They’ve probably calmed down by now.”

OJ gave him a look. “Do you really believe that?”

“Nope,” Paper admitted, grinning. “But it’ll be fun.”

They slid into the friend group’s usual corner table. Lightbulb gasped so loudly, “LOOK WHO FINALLY CAME BACK TO THE TABLE!”

Pickle slammed his hands on the surface. “OH MY GOD. PAYJAY RETURNS!!”

OJ immediately buried his face in his hands and turned around, “This is exactly why we don’t sit here.”

Paper just laughed, and tugged him back. “Told you it’d be fun.”

Bomb leaned in, eyes darting between them. “S–s–so… Friday, huh?”

OJ’s head snapped up. “How do you people even know about that?!”

“Paintbrush,” Knife deadpanned, and leaned back “Obviously.”

Paintbrush didn’t even deny it. They just sipped their water calmly. “In my defense, Pickle threatened to combust if I didn’t share.”

Pickle gasped dramatically. “TRUE. I would’ve.” He turned to Paper, practically bouncing. “So, are you like, freaking out? Are you shaking? Do you need water? An emotional support blanket?!”

Lightbulb shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth and garbled, “They’re totally already married. This Friday thing is just the vow renewal.”

“Lightbulb, shut up,” Knife muttered, but his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Paper tried to answer, but the group’s energy was spiraling too fast.

Bomb leaned across the table, stuttering in excitement. “W–w–when OJ asks, a–are you g–g–gonna cry? B–because I m–might cry.”

OJ groaned. “Can we please eat lunch like normal people?!”

“Define normal,” Knife chirped.

“Not this!” OJ snapped.

Pickle clasped his hands together dramatically. “Sorry, OJ, but Operation Payjay has been years in the making. Do you really expect us to just sit here, eat our lunch, and not care?”

Paper burst out laughing, the sound bubbling out of him before he could stop it. “See, Jay? Fun.”

OJ gave him a look, but there was no real bite in it. He sighed, shaking his head with the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

Paper leaned closer, grin wide. “And you like it.”

Lightbulb shrieked and pointed. “SEE?! THEY’RE FLIRTING RIGHT NOW! IN FRONT OF US!”

Half the cafeteria turned to look.

OJ groaned so loudly it echoed. “We’re never sitting here again.”

Paper just leaned back in his chair, absolutely delighted.

———

The rest of lunch was basically doomed from the second OJ and Paper sat down. Between Lightbulb drawing “wedding plans” on a napkin and Pickle practically vibrating out of his seat, there was no way to salvage a normal conversation.

By the time the bell rang, Paper and OJ were already slipping out ahead of the group, both clutching their trays like shields.

“Okay, you were right,” Paper said once they hit the hallway, lowering his voice. “Note to self: never eat with them again.”

“Ever,” OJ agreed immediately, though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his laugh.

Paper nudged his elbow. “Admit it, you thought it was kind of funny.”

OJ gave him a look, but then he exhaled, chuckling under his breath. “Alright. A little. I liked hearing their wedding plans for us, a rainbow cake is an interesting choice.”

Paper snorted, remembering it too. For a second, the stress melted into something light and easy, just the two of them walking shoulder to shoulder.

They slowed when they reached the stairwell, where the noise of the cafeteria couldn’t quite follow. Paper lingered, shifting his books to one arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, like he wasn’t sure he should. “You know I don’t care what they say, right? About us. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s… you and me.”

OJ stopped, his hand tightening on the strap of his backpack. He didn’t say anything right away, but his ears went pink, and when he finally glanced at Paper, it was with that look, the one that made Paper feel like his knees might give out.

“…Yeah,” OJ said quietly. “Me too.”

Paper smiled, small but real. The chaos of their friends could wait. Right now, walking to class beside OJ, it almost felt simple.

———

WEDNESDAY

After homeroom, Paper and OJ made their way to history class, and the first thing they noticed when they walked in was a substitute teacher.

Paper lit up instantly. Not that he hated history, but he loved talking to OJ, and now he finally had time to just talk without the usual lecture hanging over them. He would’ve whispered to him either way, but this gave him freedom.

They dropped into their seats, OJ already pulling out a neat stack of papers to work on. Paper leaned back in his chair with a dramatic grin.

“Substitute teacher! That means I get to be as annoying as I want!”

OJ chuckled, sliding a pencil into place. “I don’t mind. Go on, what’s on the agenda today?”

Paper clasped his hands like he’d been waiting for this moment. “Okay, first, my math grade. I don’t know what happened. I swear I aced that quiz, but apparently I got a B? A B+. Do you know how insulting that is? I’ve never gotten a B before. I think the teacher just has something against me, because there’s no way I did that badly. Unless… maybe I filled in the wrong bubble? Or maybe I—”

His words tumbled out in a rapid stream, animated and half-serious. OJ, pencil in hand, smiled softly to himself and bent over his work.

As class president, he had forms to fill, dates to finalize, and event proposals to draft. He glanced up every so often, laughing at Paper’s dramatics or murmuring a small comment, but mostly he kept writing.

After a few minutes, though, OJ’s shoulders slumped. His pencil slowed, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

Paper noticed immediately, mid-rant. He stopped, tilting his head. “Are you okay? Am I… talking too much?”

OJ’s head shot up. “What? No, no, Paper, it’s not you. I like listening. It’s this stupid senior events thing. I just…” He pressed his thumb into his temple. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Paper leaned forward across his desk, his expression softening. “Aww, Jay. Want me to help? I really don’t mind.”

OJ shook his head, though his voice was tired. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it under control. It’s just that this is all due next week, and I don’t understand why I’m planning senior year stuff now when it’s months away. I mean, I get it, but…” He trailed off with another sigh.

“Whatever you say, Jay,” Paper murmured, though he didn’t look convinced.

For a few quiet minutes, OJ worked with his head down while Paper, not wanting to distract him, scrolled absently on his phone. But every so often, OJ let out another groan or muttered under his breath about deadlines and budgets and dances.

Paper finally dropped his phone onto the desk. with a thud.

“Alright, that’s it.”

OJ blinked up at him. “What?”

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Paper said, pointing at him with playful determination.“After school, you’re coming to my house. We’ll tackle this together—no stress, no complaining, just teamwork. And then we’re going to relax. Movie, snacks, whatever you want. Deal?”

OJ hesitated, then closed his notebook with a soft snap. “…Yeah. That actually sounds really good. Let’s do that."

Paper beamed, satisfied. “Perfect. It’s a date! Well, not a date, but you know what I mean.”

OJ chuckled under his breath, his chest feeling lighter already.

———

The final bell rang, and just like that, Paper was rushing to find OJ outside.

It took him a couple minutes, but when he stepped outside, there OJ was waiting for Paper.

Paper ran over to OJ, smiling; when he arrived to him, he didn’t even let OJ speak and pulled him by the sleeve, rushing him outside the school campus.

“Okay, the stress relief mission begins now,” Paper declared, skipping outside the school. “Step one: walk to my house. Step two: snacks. Step three: victory movie night.”

OJ gave him a look, but it was softened with a smile. “Victory movie night? We haven’t even finished the work yet.”

“Details, details.” Paper waved his hand like it was trivial. “We’ll get it done. But I’m calling it now; tonight’s a win.”

As they walked along the sidewalk, Paper rambled on, pointing at random houses and making up stories about the people inside.

“That one? Haunted. That one? Definitely has seventeen cats. That one? OJ, that one’s us in ten years, matching porch chairs and a mailbox that leans to the left.”

OJ rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “You really think we’d get a leaning mailbox?”

“Of course,” Paper said with a grin. “It adds character. Just like you—" He stopped short, catching himself, then quickly added, “—you know, always stressed but still cute.”

OJ flushed instantly and tugged at his backpack strap. “Okay, that was nice, but stressed and cute do not go together.”

“Why not?” Paper teased, stepping in front of him to walk backward. “It’s true. You’re cute when you’re stressed. All scrunched up. Like a grumpy little—”

“Paper,” OJ warned, though his voice cracked slightly, betraying the fondness beneath.

Paper laughed, spinning around again. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop before your ego explodes.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. OJ glanced at him now and then, the earlier weight from class loosening with every step.

By the time Paper’s house came into view, OJ felt like he’d already shed half the stress he’d been carrying.

———

“Okay,” Paper announced as he unlocked the door, “welcome to the official headquarters of Stress Relief. Shoes off, bag down, but bring the notebook for work, but after that prepare to be the most relaxed class president in the history of ever.”

OJ shook his head but let himself smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Paper and OJ made their way upstairs and into Paper’s room, dropping their bags by the door. The moment they stepped in, Paper was already in planning mode, sitting cross-legged on the bed with a notebook.

“Okay,” Paper said, clapping his hands together. "Senior year. You’re planning events, right?”

OJ sighed, pulling out the list he’d been agonizing over. “Kind of? We’re supposed to put together a whole senior week. Everyone expects it to be fun, but, you know… we also have to make sure it’s affordable.”

Paper tapped his chin. “Alright, hear me out. We absolutely have to go to a theme park one of the days. Everybody would love that. Easy win.”

OJ smiled. “Already wrote that down.”

“Great minds think alike!” Paper giggled, leaning over to peek at the paper.

“How about a senior breakfast?” Paper added after a beat. “But not just a boring cafeteria pancake thing… like a boat breakfast. That’d be cool, right?”

OJ gasped, immediately scribbling it down. “Paper…that’s actually genius! A boat breakfast? People would freak out, in a good way.”

Paper looked smug. “Told you. I’m full of ideas.”

For the next hour, they tossed ideas back and forth: senior picnic, talent show, scavenger hunt. Some were serious, some completely ridiculous, but by the time they leaned back, the page was full.

OJ held it up proudly. “This is perfect. Honestly, Paper, thank you. I don’t think I could’ve pulled this together without you.”

Paper flushed at the sincerity in his voice. He laughed lightly, trying to play it off. “Eh, what can I say? I’m that good.”

But OJ didn’t let it go. He looked at him with a softness that made Paper’s cheeks warm. “No, really. You helped more than you know.”

Paper glanced away, trying to hide his blush. “Well… you’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway! Stress-relief phase two. Movie time! Pick anything.”

“Why don’t you pick?” OJ asked, setting the papers aside.

“Because you’ll just let me pick something dumb and pretend you’re having fun. This is about your stress, sweetie.”

OJ blinked. “…Sweetie?”

Paper’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, that was a joke, you know that!”

OJ grinned, leaning in a little. “Friends don’t usually call each other ‘sweetie.”

Flustered, Paper grabbed a pillow and smacked him lightly with it. “You’re stalling. Pick a movie before I make you watch Desperate Housewives for the fifteenth time.”

OJ laughed, hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine! I’ll pick. Go get snacks or something.”

Paper muttered something under his breath, but he was smiling as he headed downstairs.

By the time he came back up, arms full of chips and sodas, OJ had the movie queued up. Paper blinked at the screen. “‘The Founder’? What even is that?”

OJ scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, this is stupid, but my dad put it on the other day. It’s about the founder of McDonald’s, but it was actually… kinda interesting. Just give it a chance.”

Paper burst out laughing as he dropped onto the bed. “You are such a nerd. But fine, I trust you.”

OJ had pulled the desk chair over and sat in it like it was the most natural thing. Paper raised an eyebrow. “…What are you doing?”

“Sitting?” OJ said innocently.

“Uh, yeah, but why there? You know friends can sit on the bed together, right?”

OJ chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’m coming over.”

He climbed onto the bed beside Paper, a little stiff at first, but Paper just flopped against the pillows like it was nothing. Slowly, OJ eased closer until their shoulders brushed.

“See?” Paper teased, smiling sideways at him. “Not so scary.”

OJ chuckled again, softer this time. “Not scary at all.”

Before long, the movie was just background noise, with Paper making sarcastic comments about the business deals and OJ laughing at how seriously he tried to follow the plot. Their shoulders stayed pressed, neither moving away.

By the time Paper grabbed a chip and offered it to OJ like a peace treaty, it didn’t even feel like teasing anymore. It felt easy and warm. And when OJ’s fingers brushed against Paper’s while reaching for the bag, he didn’t pull away, not right away.

———

The movie droned on in the background, its plot more noise than anything either of them was actually following. For a while, neither spoke, just the soft sound of popcorn crunching and the occasional flicker of the TV lighting up Paper’s face.

OJ glanced sideways. Paper was curled into the blankets, his focus half on the screen, half drifting. That quiet, peaceful look was dangerous; it made OJ’s chest feel tight. A thought tugged at him, mischievous and sharp: let me mess with him.

“You know…” OJ started softly, almost like he was just thinking out loud, “You have really pretty eyes.”

Paper blinked, turning his head. “What? My eyes? That’s… random, Jay.”

“No, seriously,” OJ leaned in, a grin tugging at his mouth. “They light up when you get all passionate about something. Like earlier, when we were talking about senior year stuff. You looked… kinda adorable, actually.”

Paper sank deeper into the blankets, already flushing. “Jayyy…”

“And your smile?” OJ kept going, deliberately relentless now. “Don’t even get me started. It’s, like, illegal levels of cute. Makes me want to smile, too, and I’m not even that kind of guy.”

Paper buried his face in his hands. “You’re so annoying!!”

OJ tugged at his wrists playfully. “Don’t hide! Friends give compliments all the time.”

“Not like this! This is… this is flirting!!”

“Flirting?” OJ tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Nah. This is just… me being honest. But hey, if it feels like flirting, maybe that’s on you.”

Paper groaned and pulled the blanket over his head. “Jay! Stop it!!”

“Nope.” OJ yanked the blanket down just enough to see Paper’s red face. His grin softened. “Also? Your laugh. Dangerous. I could listen to it for hours and still not get enough.”

Paper’s breath caught. He didn’t even try to argue that one.

A beat of silence. The noise of the movie filled the space, but OJ didn’t move away. His voice dropped, quiet and teasing:

“In a very… platonic way, I think I love you, Paper.”

Paper’s chest tightened, his smile pulling wide despite himself. “Platonic, huh?”

OJ’s grin turned sly. “Unless… you’re too scared to admit you like this.” He leaned the tiniest bit closer.

Paper’s hands shot up between them, flustered. “Friday!! We said Friday!!”

“Okay, okay,” OJ laughed, backing off, though his eyes lingered with a heat that said he wasn’t finished. “But you’re not fooling anyone. You almost kissed me just now.”

Paper rolled his eyes, laughing breathlessly. “Fine, fine. Something small. Just to shut you up.”

He leaned in and pressed the quickest kiss to OJ’s cheek. “That’s it. That’s all the sugar you’re getting until Friday.”

OJ froze for a second, then touched his cheek with exaggerated drama. “Wow. You’re cruel.”

“Yet you’re smiling,” Paper shot back, trying to steady his own heartbeat.

OJ leaned back, smirking. “Yeah… maybe I am.”

———

The movie eventually wound down, the credits rolling across the screen in the dim glow of Paper’s room. Neither of them had really been paying attention to the last half hour, both too caught up in their own little bubble of laughter, snacks, and OJ’s relentless teasing.

OJ finally blinked at the clock on Paper’s wall and groaned. “Oh crap! It's almost seven. If I don’t get home soon, my parents are going to kill me.”

Paper sat up quickly. “What? No, my dad can drive you. It’s not even that far.”

OJ shook his head, standing to grab his bag. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just walk. It’s not like it’s far, and… I kind of like the walk. Helps me clear my head.”

“Clear your head? About what?” Paper asked, tilting his head.

OJ hesitated just long enough for Paper to smirk knowingly. “Don’t even say it,” OJ warned, pointing at him.

Paper leaned back on his bed, arms folded. “Mhm. Clear your head about me, huh?”

OJ turned red instantly. “Seriously. You’re insufferable.”

“But you keep coming back!” Paper’s grin softened then, a little less teasing, a little more tender. 

He walked OJ to the door and leaned against the frame. “Seriously, though… thanks for today. You looked like you needed it.”

OJ smiled, shoulders relaxing. “I did. You made it better, Paper. Way better.”

There was a pause, heavy but not uncomfortable. Paper’s voice dipped quiet. “Friday can’t come soon enough.”

OJ’s grin widened, and he leaned closer like he might say something else, but instead he whispered, “You know I like waiting.”

Paper immediately shot back with a laugh, “Who are you lying to?”

OJ tried to glare but couldn’t fight his own smile. “Okay, maybe not that much.”

Paper rolled his eyes, though his face stayed warm. “Go before I change my mind and make you stay.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” OJ shot back, smirking as he opened the door.

Paper laughed, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Jay.”

OJ glanced back once, softer this time. “Goodnight, Paper.”

The door clicked shut, but both of them stood there for a moment longer, OJ on the porch, Paper inside, hearts full, grins they couldn’t get rid of, already counting down the hours until Friday.

———

OJ had just stepped onto the quiet sidewalk, the air cool against his face, when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to see Pickle’s name flashing.

“Hello?” OJ answered, trying to sound normal, though a smile was already tugging at his lips.

“OJJJJ!!” Pickle’s voice burst through the speaker. “I’m bored out of my mind. Knife won’t talk to me because I keep making 67 jokes, and he’s over it. So, what’s up with you?! Spill!”

OJ laughed softly, tucking the phone to his ear. “Pickle… nothing. Just walking home.”

“Nothing?!” Pickle shrieked. “Come on, OJ! You never say ‘nothing.’ I know something’s going on! Did Paper finally…? Did you two hang out?”

OJ froze for a second, grinning. “…Maybe we did.”

Pickle went silent for half a beat, then screamed, “WAIT, WHAT?! YOU DID?! OJ, you’re winning so hard right now! Did you watch a movie? Did you eat snacks? Did he tease you? Did you tease him? DID YOU—”

OJ held up a hand, laughing. “Pickle, slow down. Yeah, we hung out. We planned stuff for senior year, watched a movie, and had snacks. Yes, we teased each other a little. That’s all.”

“ONLY A LITTLE?!” Pickle practically shrieked into the phone. “OJ! Are you serious?! You must tell me every little detail. How did he look at you? Did he touch you at all? Did you almost… you know?!”

OJ chuckled, shaking his head, imagining Pickle bouncing up and down on the other end of the line. “Pickle… he’s Paper. He’s amazing. And yes, I got a little something, okay? That’s all I’ll say for now. You’ll see on Friday.”

Pickle screamed so loudly that OJ’s ears hurt. “I forgot I have to wait for Friday… I’m literally going to die waiting! I am literally not breathing right now! You are such a lucky human. I can’t even! I just—”

OJ laughed, stopping for a moment and letting Pickle freak out. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll survive. I promise.”

“No promises!!” Pickle shouted. “But please, OJ… Keep telling me things. I need to know! I’ve been the number one Payjay shipper since freshman year!”

“Alright,” OJ said, smiling, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay! Goodnight, and remember, you’re a dude-man!”

OJ tilted his head, smirking. “Is that another reference I won’t understand?”

Pickle giggled. “Yeah, Bomb taught me that one! We’re just learning brain rot to annoy Knife.”

OJ chuckled. “As long as it’s not me!”

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” Pickle laughed again.

OJ ended the call and slid his phone into his pocket. The night felt somehow warmer, the streets quieter, and the whole world lighter. Because no matter how chaotic Pickle got, his thoughts kept drifting back to Paper, the grin, the warmth, the soft teasing, the almost-kiss, and OJ didn’t mind it one bit.

———

OJ slipped his phone into his pocket and continued walking down the quiet streets, the hum of distant traffic and the occasional barking dog filling the night. He shook his head, smiling to himself.

Paper’s little quips, the way he had gotten flustered, the warmth of his cheek when OJ had gotten that tiny peck… it all kept replaying in his mind. He could feel that familiar flutter in his chest, the one that made him grin like a fool.

“You know I like waiting,” OJ murmured under his breath, smirking. And immediately he could picture Paper rolling his eyes and laughing. Who was he kidding? Waiting was hard, but it was worth it. Every teasing glance and every soft smile all made Friday feel like it was simultaneously forever away and right around the corner.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Paper… you’re impossible.”

And yet, he loved it. Loved him. Loved every little thing that made Paper… Paper. He tightened his backpack strap and kept walking, letting the cool night air brush over him, imagining the next time they'd hang out, they'd be boyfriends.

By the time OJ reached the sidewalk near his house, he was already thinking about how he could casually text Paper tomorrow, just to get another little spark of that warmth back. Because no matter what, he couldn’t get enough of Paper.

OJ finally got home and with a small, content sigh stepped inside, the night holding all its quiet promises.

———

THURSDAY

Homeroom was almost starting, and Paper was already in his seat, fidgeting with the cuff of his sweater. The rustle of papers, whispers of classmates, and the occasional squeak of chairs filled the air, but he was lost in thought, fingers twisting absentmindedly.

OJ slid into his usual spot beside him, bright-eyed and smiling, a little too early to start class. “You know,” he said, leaning closer so only Paper could hear, “you never told me what you want for our date tomorrow.”

Paper blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Well… Good morning to you too.”

OJ chuckled, nudging him lightly with his shoulder. “No, seriously. I want it to be perfect. I need details. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Paper smirked, deciding to tease just a little. “Well… I’ve always imagined going to Paris, having a fancy dinner, and getting asked out right there.”

OJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh… ambitious for tomorrow, don’t you think?”

Paper giggled. “Fine, fine! But Jay, it’s not just about me. What do you want?”

OJ smirked, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Nope. You first. Spill.”

Paper sighed, tapping his fingers on his desk. “Ever since I was younger… I imagined being asked out under the stars.” He glanced at OJ, a sheepish edge to his smile. “But… we kind of did that already, even if you didn’t ask me out. Would it even feel special again?”

OJ’s grin softened, a small laugh escaping him. “We can do it again if that’s what you want. Honestly, it wouldn’t feel any less special with you.”

Paper shook his head, twirling a loose strand of hair. “No, I mean… we should do what we want. Not just repeat things.”

OJ’s eyes lit up. “Okay… what about the aquarium? That’d be cute.”

Paper tilted his head skeptically. “And get asked out under the dolphins who probably want to eat me?”

OJ laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, right… forgot you’re terrified of them.”

Paper laughed too, hiding his face for a second in his sleeve. “Still… cute though. I think we could make it work.”

“No! We need this to be perfect!” OJ exclaimed, gripping Paper’s hand gently.

Paper squeezed back, leaning just a little closer. “Or… it could just be us.”

OJ exhaled, letting his shoulders relax. “You’re right… I’m sorry.”

Paper shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Jay, don’t apologize!” Then his eyes lit up. “Wait… okay, what if we make it just about us? Like a little private picnic?”

OJ’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight. “A picnic?”

“Yeah,” Paper said, cheeks faintly pink, “we could find somewhere quiet. Bring blankets, some snacks, and maybe a few fairy lights. Just… be together. No distractions, no expectations. And then… when the moment feels right, you can ask me out properly.”

OJ’s lips curved into a soft smile, his thumb brushing over the back of Paper’s hand. “That actually sounds… perfect. Romantic, cozy… totally us.”

Paper leaned closer. “See? Doesn’t have to be fancy to be special. We make it special ourselves.”

OJ nodded, eyes soft as he looked down at Paper. “Okay… then it’s settled. I’ll bring the blankets, you bring the snacks… and I’ll make the fairy lights extra magical.”

Paper grinned, the sparkle in his eyes brighter now. “And I’ll bring the best snacks… maybe something we can feed each other, too.”

OJ laughed, squeezing his hand gently. “You really think of everything, huh?”

Paper shrugged, leaning in just a little, voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe… or maybe I just know what I want. And I want… you.”

OJ felt a flutter in his chest, warmth spreading through him. “Well… I want you too. And tomorrow… we’ll make our own little world. Just us.”

Paper nodded, letting out a happy sigh. “Yeah… just us.”

———

Before lunch that day, Pickle spotted OJ waiting outside the classroom for Paper and practically vibrated over to him.

“OJ!! Any updates on the whole date situation?” he demanded, eyes wide and sparkling.

OJ paused for a second, debating whether to lie or not. Then he shrugged. “Okay… we have a whole picnic date planned for tomorrow. Snacks, blankets, fairy lights… just us being ourselves. And, well… when the time is right, I’ll ask him out properly.”

Pickle practically squealed, throwing his hands in the air. “You guys make life worth living right now! THAT’S SO ADORABLE, WHAT?!”

OJ quickly shushed him, leaning close. “Pickle! You’re being way too loud!”

Just then, Paper appeared, coming out of the classroom with a small stack of papers. “Sorry, I had to ask the teacher about something.” He glanced over, immediately spotting Pickle. “I’m assuming that scream came from you?”

Pickle nodded enthusiastically, nearly bouncing in place. “Yep! You guys are officially the cutest humans alive! I can’t even handle it!”

Paper groaned, smirking. “Oh, shut up. You’re ridiculous.”

OJ leaned toward Paper, lowering his voice. “We’re going to sit with them for lunch?”

Paper shrugged, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “Umm… yeah. We kind of have no choice. It’d be rude to abandon Pickle right now.”

OJ groaned dramatically. “Love them, but they are so going to annoy us about the picnic date the whole time.”

Paper laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly against OJ’s. “Eh, who cares? I’m too excited. And besides… you secretly love it.”

OJ rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe a little.”

Pickle clapped his hands gleefully. “Yes! That’s the energy I needed for lunch! Now spill everything when we sit down!”

Paper shook his head, giggling. “You’re impossible, Pickle.”

OJ exhaled, adjusting his backpacks and muttering, “This is going to be chaotic…”

“Exactly,” Paper said with a grin, linking his arm with OJ’s as they walked toward the cafeteria. “But fun and chaotic. That’s the important part.”

Once they entered the cafeteria, Pickle practically dragged them toward the table.

“Guys! I forced them over here, and they’re going to share everything about their date tomorrow!” he announced, practically vibrating with excitement.

OJ groaned, rolling his eyes, while Paper laughed quietly beside him. They slid into their seats amid the cheerful chaos.

Lightbulb’s eyes sparkled. “OHH, what’s going on!! Spill it!”

Pickle beamed like the world depended on it. “So, they’re planning a picnic date! Fairy lights, snacks, cozy blankets—the whole romance package! And… and—”

“I thought they were going to tell us?” Paintbrush said between bites, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Oops, sorry…” Pickle waved a hand, sheepishly. “Pretend you never heard me say it. You guys go!”

Paper leaned back, smiling softly. “Well… um, yeah, we’re doing a little picnic tomorrow. Nothing too fancy. Just… snacks, blankets, maybe some fairy lights. Just… us, you know?”

OJ’s voice dropped to a teasing whisper. “You’ll finally be mine.”

Paper nudged him softly with his shoulder, smirking.

Knife, leaning back with his usual stoic expression, muttered, “Okay… well, I’ll admit, that’s kind of adorable.”

Bomb’s eyes went wide, and he nearly toppled out of his seat. “W-w-what?! Y-you j-j-just g-got Knife t-to admit y-you’re c-c-cute!”

Pickle squealed, bouncing like he might lift off the ground. “I KNEW IT! IF KNIFE’S EXCITED, YOU KNOW THIS IS GOING TO BE AMAZING!”

Knife groaned, rubbing his temples. “Don’t make that a whole thing…”

Lightbulb clapped her hands, ignoring the chaos. “OKAY! Changing topics! Can I help set up? I promise I won’t break anything… probably.”

Paintbrush raised an eyebrow. “First of all, it’s their date, babe. Second, when we did something like that for one of our dates, you almost burned my house down. So maybe let them do it themselves?”

Lightbulb frowned, pouting. “Okay… fine… But can I at least give moral support? Or moral… lighting support? Fairy lights?”

Pickle leaned closer to Paper and OJ, practically vibrating. “JUST PROMISE YOU’LL TELL ME THE DETAILS! Tell me what snacks you’ll eat first! Who’ll make the first move? I need to know if you hold hands! If you almost—”

“Pickle!” Paper groaned, covering his face with his hands, though the smile didn’t leave.

OJ chuckled, brushing Paper’s hand gently. “Don’t worry. He’s just excited.”

“Y-y-yeah b-because h-h-he w-waited y-years for t-t-this to h-h-happen!”

Pickle laughed, “YES EXACTLY!”

Paintbrush leaned back with a smirk. “Honestly, I’m just glad you two lovebirds are finally getting together. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could survive the ‘close but almost there’ vibes.”

“Yeah, you two were killing me,” Pickle added, bouncing in his seat.

Paper laughed softly, leaning toward OJ. “Well, tomorrow is official!”

OJ grinned, “Then you can all stop complaining and focus on something else.”

Pickle spoke for the group, “Nope, we will be focused on you two for months… Then we’ll move on!”

Lightbulb suddenly snapped her fingers. “OH! Can we brainstorm cute picnic names? Like, ‘The Cozy Blanket Adventure’ or… ‘Operation Snack Attack’?!

Paintbrush groaned dramatically. “No, no, absolutely not. Let them have their moment.”

Knife muttered under his breath, “I feel like I need earplugs already…”

“No, wait, let her cook!!” Pickle exclaimed.

As the chaos went on in the background, Paper rolled his eyes, smiling softly at OJ. “Love them, but… they really are out of control.”

OJ chuckled, leaning back. “I told you! But honestly, I wouldn’t trade this chaos for anything.”

And as the lunch bell rang and the cafeteria buzzed louder, the little group of friends continued to chatter, laugh, and tease, leaving Paper and OJ quietly holding hands under the table, hearts full, already imagining tomorrow’s perfect picnic, just the two of them.

———

The cafeteria chaos didn’t seem to end even as Paper and OJ slid out of their seats. Pickle was still bouncing, Lightbulb was talking about “helpful” picnic setup ideas, and Bomb was quietly trying to process Knife’s rare display of excitement.

OJ tugged Paper gently by the sleeve as they headed toward the door.

“Okay, we survived,” OJ murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Barely.”

Paper laughed, linking his arm with OJ’s as they walked down the hallway. “I think I liked surviving. I mean, they were chaotic, sure, but… it was kind of fun seeing them so excited for us.”

OJ rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fun is one word for it. Insane is another.”

“True,” Paper said, grinning. “But you’re smiling, so clearly it was entertaining. Admit it.”

OJ glanced at him, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… maybe a little. Don’t let it go to your head.”

Paper leaned closer, whispering, “Oh, it already has.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few steps, just enjoying being together away from the table. OJ’s hand brushed against Paper’s, and he didn’t pull away, letting their fingers intertwine just slightly. It felt natural, easy.

“Tomorrow’s going to be… something,” OJ said softly, his voice low. “I mean, I want it to be perfect, but…” He sighed, shaking his head. “You know me. I’ll probably overthink everything.”

Paper nudged him gently. “Jay… just be yourself. That’s already perfect enough. Besides, it’s not like we’re doing this for anyone else. Just us.”

OJ smiled at that, warmth pooling in his chest. “Yeah… just us.”

Paper grinned and squeezed his hand before they reached the next classroom. “Exactly. And if we mess up, it’s fine. We’ll laugh about it. And then probably Plan B will involve snacks. Definitely snacks.”

OJ chuckled, resting his forehead against Paper’s shoulder briefly. “Okay, deal. Snacks are mandatory.”

Paper laughed softly. “Good. Then tomorrow… just us, a little picnic, maybe some fairy lights… and who knows? We might even make some memories worth teasing Pickle about later.”

OJ grinned, squeezing Paper’s hand again. “I’m counting on it.”

———

That night OJ lay on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the ceiling as the room darkened around him. The quiet hum of the house was oddly soothing, but his mind refused to stay still.

Tomorrow was the picnic. The date. The “just us” moment he’d been planning with Paper.

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Why am I this nervous?” he muttered to himself. “It’s just Paper. It’s just a picnic. We’ve been… we’ve been fine together before.”

But the truth hit him hard; fine wasn’t enough.

He wanted it to be perfect for Paper. Not for Pickle or Lightbulb or anyone else, just for Paper. And the thought of messing it up, of not making it special… it made his chest tighten.

His phone buzzed, breaking the spiral of anxious thoughts. The screen lit up with Paper’s name. OJ’s heart did a little leap.

As he read the message, OJ could practically hear Paper’s smile through the text.

justpaper [10:37 P.M.]

Hey, Jay! I was just thinking… about tomorrow. And about us. I know we’ve been friends forever, and honestly, I love that. I love it so much. But tomorrow… I can’t wait to be more. To see what it’s like just us, no distractions, no chaos, just… me and you. I’m excited, Jay. More excited than I can even put into words. And no matter what happens, I’m happy we’re doing this together. ❤️❤️

OJ’s chest warmed. A grin spread across his face, soft and uncontrollable. He typed back almost immediately:

itsmeoj [10:39 P.M.]

Paper… You have no idea how much I needed to hear that. I’ve been… nervous. But this? Reading this? I feel like tomorrow is already going to be perfect. Just us, yeah. I’m excited too. So excited!

His thumb hovered over the screen, heart thudding, before he finally tapped it. The glow of the screen felt warmer than the lamplight.

He set his phone down gently, staring at the ceiling again, but this time with a peaceful sort of anticipation. The butterflies in his stomach weren’t nerves; they were excitement. Pure, undeniable excitement for the picnic, for Paper, and for the quiet magic of just being together.

OJ closed his eyes, a small laugh escaping him. “Tomorrow… just us,” he whispered.

“Yeah… just us.”