ts · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the weight of their shared trauma with quiet resilience. · and the
The fluorescent lights of Prufrock Preparatory School buzzed softly overhead, staining the worn linoleum halls a sickly yellow. The air hung thick with the ghosts of chalk dust and reheated lunches. Duncan Quagmire stood rigidly by his locker, the cold metal of the handle pressing into his skin as he shuffled a stack of textbooks aimlessly. A dark lock of hair slipped over his eye as he glanced up, and his breath caught—there you were, turning the corner. He watched, helpless, as the light caught the line of your shoulder, as your familiar stride ate up the distance between you. When your gaze found his, a traitorous heat flushed the back of his neck. He looked away sharply, his fingers tightening around the worn leather of his notebook. "It's only you," he murmured to the inside of his…