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#Post#: 1183--------------------------------------------------
Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:19 pm
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Morning was just that— another one. Aria’s eyes flew open at the
screech of her alarm. Her hand hit the button, her face looking
at the numbers that glowed back.
Rune curled against her form as if trying to keep her warm.
She laid there for five minutes, the house still quiet during
the twilight hours. Days like this felt hard enough to get out
of bed, but she needed to if she was going to make it to
practice. She got out of bed with a final groan. “Rune.. move I
gotta go.”
The husky slid off with a lazy slide of his back legs to shake
off the sleep as his master walked by him.
Aria scoured her closet, picking her usual style. Tights under
torn jeans, a tank top that would scream violation for the dress
code. Not that it mattered- she often wore hoodies till she was
off campus on the warmer days.
She pulled her hair up and out of her face. Her hand snagging
her cap.
Her eye flicked to the photo of her friend— smiling. She turned
the bill of her hat backwards, patted rune on the head, and
grabbed her back pack and her skateboard. She skipped down the
steps to pause. Smell of coffee… they were up.
She paused with rune at her heels, a nose nudging her hand
bringing her back to earth.
She finally moved, making front door, her mother talking with
her stepfather.
It was like this most mornings— sometimes they say something but
most times it was like they didn’t notice her walk out the door.
“Be good boy.” She murmured before she closed the door.
Her feet hit the board as she made her way to school, feeling
the bite of the wind of the morning. Her eyes toward the
sunlight that had just graced her with its vision.
———
Elliot woke with an abrupt start. A yell of his father to get
ready. The frazzled teen asleep on his papers of written works
scattered about.
“Oh no…” he muttered to begin moving. He peeled out of
yesterday’s clothes to shower quickly. He couldn’t be late
again today! Smith would have his head if he was late to math
again.
He began to cram what he could in his backpack, papers slipping
to be crammed right back in. He pushed out of his room to hit
the steps.
A sandwich shoved in his hand and his father had the keys. “Eat
and hurry!” Said his equally frazzled father. He struggled with
his tie as they stepped towards the car.
“Got everything?” Asked his dad.
“Yeah.”
“Pencils?… pens?… homework?”
“Yes— yes and …” he paused. “I’ll do that on the way!” He said
as they got in and took off.
They made it to school and Elliot hopped out. He rushed by a
kid.
“Sorry!” He said to make his way inside.
——
The alarm on Huntor’s phone went off at five thirty sharp.
Most teenagers would’ve groaned, slapped snooze, and buried
their faces back into their pillows.
Huntor shot upright.
Sunlight hadn’t even begun creeping through the blinds yet, but
he was already sliding out of bed, stretching his long limbs
before heading straight for his closet. Rows of clothes were
arranged carefully — jackets hung by color, shirts folded
neatly, shoes lined like a display.
Outfit number one hit the floor within minutes.
Too basic.
Outfit number two followed not long after.
Too loud.
He tugged on a third — a fitted black shirt with layered chains
and a sleek jacket — turning slowly in the mirror, tilting his
head.
Close… but not right.
With a frustrated huff, he stripped it off and reached for the
fourth.
Dark slim jeans. A crisp shirt with just the right fit. A
statement jacket he’d customized himself with subtle stitching
along the sleeves. He stepped into his sneakers, then stood
back.
Perfect.
Huntor’s lips curved into a satisfied smile.
Next came his hair.
He dampened it slightly, fingers working through the strands as
he styled it just messy enough to look effortless while actually
taking fifteen full minutes to get just right. When he was done,
he leaned closer to the mirror, checking every angle.
Impeccable.
Exactly how he wanted the world to see him.
Downstairs, the smell of coffee and toast filled the kitchen.
His mom had already packed his lunch and set it beside a fresh
apple on the counter.
“Morning, mom,” Huntor said softly, slinging his backpack over
one shoulder.
She smiled warmly. “Morning, handsome. Don’t forget your lunch.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
He grabbed the bag and the apple, then leaned down to kiss her
cheek.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“I always do.”
Outside, he climbed into the used but well-maintained car his
parents had gotten him after he earned his license. It wasn’t
flashy, but it was his — and he loved it. Music filled the car
as he pulled out of the driveway, already tapping his fingers
along to the beat.
The school parking lot was already buzzing when Huntor arrived.
Students spilled across sidewalks, laughing, arguing, dragging
backpacks behind them. Lockers slammed. Voices echoed.
Huntor moved smoothly through the crowd, heading straight for
his locker. He swapped out a few heavy textbooks, stacking them
neatly before shutting the door with a soft click.
Math first.
He turned and started down the hallway—
—and nearly collided with someone.
“Whoa—”
The other boy brushed past him in a rush, muttering a quick
apology without really stopping.
Huntor blinked, shifting his bag back up onto his shoulder.
“It’s fine,” he called after him, though the boy was already
disappearing into the crowd.
Shrugging it off, Huntor headed the same direction.
A minute later, he stepped into his math classroom — only to
spot the same boy sliding into a seat near the middle.
Huntor paused just a fraction.
Huh.
Guess we’re in the same class.
He moved to an empty desk a few rows away, setting his bag down
as he glanced briefly at the other boy again, curiosity
flickering.
The day was just beginning.
----
Graham’s alarm had been going off for twenty minutes.
He hadn’t heard a damn thing.
Sunlight was already slicing through the cracked blinds when one
of the boys in the room finally shouted, “Bro—if you don’t turn
that thing off, I swear—”
Graham jolted awake with a curse, fumbling blindly until he
smacked his phone silent.
“Shit—shit, shit, shit.”
He rolled out of the narrow bed, nearly tripping over a pair of
sneakers on the floor.
Late.
Again.
He grabbed yesterday’s hoodie from the chair — wrinkled, faintly
smelling of spray paint and smoke — and pulled it on over the
same ripped jeans. Close enough.
In the cracked mirror by the sink, Graham splashed water on his
face and squinted at his reflection.
“Lookin’ rough, Ace,” he muttered.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small eyeliner pencil,
carefully retracing the faded black line around his eyes. It
wasn’t about looking pretty — it was armor. Once it was sharp
again, he nodded at himself.
Better.
Before heading out, he stopped by the other bed.
“Yo,” he whispered, nudging his roommate awake. “Gimme two.”
The boy groaned but reached under his pillow, handing over a
couple cigarettes.
“Pay me back.”
“Always do,” Graham smirked.
He stuffed them into his pocket and slung his backpack over one
shoulder.
It was light — way too light for school.
Inside was a half-filled notebook full of wild sketches and
half-written thoughts, a pencil with teeth marks, several cans
of spray paint wrapped in an old hoodie, and a few other things
that would definitely land him in trouble if found.
Academics, his bag was not.
The group home kitchen was already loud with chaos — kids
arguing over cereal, someone watching cartoons way too loudly.
Graham slid through it like a ghost.
He snagged a bag of chips from the pantry, shoved it into his
hoodie pocket, then grabbed a granola bar too.
“Breakfast of champions,” he muttered.
On the way out, he stopped at the corner store, tossing a
Gatorade onto the counter.
The clerk eyed him.
“You late again.”
“Fashionably,” Graham said with a crooked grin.
Outside, he sighed as he started the long walk to school.
No skateboard.
Thanks to the principal.
“Stupid confiscation policy,” he grumbled. “Like that thing was
a deadly weapon.”
His phone buzzed with a reminder.
Detention.
Again.
“Of course,” he groaned. “Perfect.”
He kicked a pebble down the sidewalk.
Whatever.
Only a few more months.
Just a few more months and he was free — no more halls, no more
teachers acting like he was already a lost cause.
He could practically taste it.
By the time Graham pushed through the school doors, the bell had
already rung.
The hallways were half empty now, lockers slamming in the
distance.
“Great,” he muttered.
He jogged toward his first class — math, unfortunately — already
knowing the teacher was gonna give him that look.
Again.
He slid into the room quietly, trying not to draw attention.
Failed.
“Mr. Alders,” the teacher said sharply. “Nice of you to join
us.”
“Traffic,” Graham replied casually, even though everyone knew he
walked.
A few students snorted.
He shrugged and headed to an empty desk — right near the middle.
As he sat down,
He leaned back in his chair, already bored.
The day had officially started.
—-
Morning arrived gently for Antonio Rezinski, announced by the
soft chiming of his alarm clock — a curated soundscape of
birdsong meant to ease him into consciousness rather than yank
him from it. Toni stirred beneath silk-thread sheets, blinking
slowly as if waking from a dream he hadn’t quite finished.
He rose without urgency, padding across polished floors that
reflected the clean lines of modern architecture and too much
money spent on minimalist perfection. The house felt more like a
gallery than a home — glass, steel, and light — and Toni moved
through it like an absent-minded exhibit piece.
The shower steamed briefly before he emerged, tugging on the
first clothes his hands found. Designer pieces mixed with
thrifted oddities, clashing patterns and silhouettes that
shouldn’t have worked — but somehow did on him. Toni never
noticed. Clothes were just colors and textures; meaning belonged
elsewhere.
He slung an excessively expensive bag over his shoulder, already
bulging with loose pencils, charcoal sticks without caps,
crumpled paper, and half-finished ideas. He didn’t bother
checking for anything else. Earbuds in, Beethoven’s First
Symphony swelling softly around him, Toni slid into his sleek
sports car and drove off without breakfast, his thoughts already
drifting ahead.
The old tree in the school courtyard waited for him.
By the time the first bell rang, Toni was seated beneath its
branches, sketchbook balanced on his knee. The tree took shape
quickly — bark rendered with loving detail — before the real
work began. Small creatures appeared between the branches:
things with too many eyes, wings folded like leaves, faces no
one else would ever see. He didn’t question them. They belonged
there now.
When the final warning bell echoed across campus, Toni rose
automatically, feet carrying him toward class while his mind
stayed behind. Pencil still scratching, eyes still chasing lines
only he could see, he somehow avoided collisions and consequence
alike.
He slipped into his classroom unnoticed — and vanished again
immediately into his work, the world reduced to graphite, paper,
and the quiet hum of imagination.
—
Sunlight cut through the room like a blade, slipping past the
heavy blankets Riko had nailed over the windows. His alarm
screamed for the third time before he snapped awake, heart
already racing. One glance at the time was enough.
He was out of bed in an instant.
His little sister was already dressed, sitting at the small
table with her breakfast. She looked up at him with eyes far too
sharp for eleven — observant, tired, and quietly disappointed.
“Slept through it again?” she asked.
Riko scowled, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Just finish up,”
he muttered. “We’re going.”
He moved through the apartment quickly, checking locks, grabbing
his things, scanning corners out of habit more than fear. The
streets didn’t forgive mistakes, and neither did time.
They were out the door minutes later. He watched his sister
board the bus, eyes never leaving her until the doors shut and
it pulled away. Only then did he hop on his bike, legs pumping
hard as he tore toward school.
The tardy bell rang just as he skidded to a stop.
Riko shoved through the classroom door a second later, breath
sharp in his chest. The teacher startled, then scowled.
“Mr. Yamato.”
“Sorry,” Riko muttered, already moving. He dropped into his seat
and dug his textbook out of his bag, shoulders tense, jaw tight.
He stared forward like he was listening — but his eyes tracked
movement instead. Who was watching. Who wasn’t. Where the exits
were. Who sat too close.
Sleep tugged at him, heavy and unwanted, the price of another
night spent doing things he couldn’t talk about. The classroom
was safe — supposedly — but Riko never believed in safety. Not
really.
He stayed alert anyway.
The streets didn’t stop watching just because he was inside.
#Post#: 1184--------------------------------------------------
Re: Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:21 pm
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The court lights buzzed awake before the sun really figured
itself out.
Aria kicked her board up into her hand and pushed through the
side doors of the gym, the familiar smell of polished wood and
old sweat wrapping around her like muscle memory. Practice
jerseys hung crooked on hooks, balls already thumping somewhere
down the line. Too early. Always too early.
She laced up without thinking, fingers moving on habit alone,
cap tossed into her bag. The coach’s whistle cut through the
quiet like a blade.
Warm-ups blurred together— laps, stretches, layup lines. The
steady rhythm of the ball against the floor grounded her, each
bounce pulling her further out of her head. Dribble. Pivot.
Shoot. Miss. Again.
Sweat gathered at her temples, slid down her spine. Her lungs
burned, thighs screaming, but this— this she could handle. The
court didn’t ask questions. It didn’t care how heavy the morning
felt or how quiet the house had been. It only demanded motion.
She sank a three from the corner. Net snapping clean.
For a second, she let herself smile.
Practice ended with the usual chaos— laughter, groans, a few
playful shoves as everyone peeled off toward lockers and
showers. Aria grabbed her hoodie, tugging it on over damp skin,
hair coming loose from its tie. She skipped the shower, opting
instead for deodorant and hope.
Practice ran a little too long for the morning and players had
their free pass to class for the morning. The quiet hall with
the few players felt like a luxury. It was rare and only
happened when games were nearing. A perfect storm of reasons to
not go home till late.
She walked in and gave the teacher her pass along with another.
A sigh.
“Really should talk to the coach that cuts into learning time.”
Grumbled the math teacher for the second time for the week.
She shrugged and headed her way back. She sat her pack down with
a thud, her sliding in her seat.
She glanced briefly to her left and her eyes met Riko’s for a
second. Her eye widened to blush—then turned her head quickly
to her notebook. the teacher continued to talk of equations and
what to do— droning on in a way that made her zone out.
——
Elliot hunched over his desk, pencil moving faster than his
thoughts as he tried to finish the last two problems. The
numbers blurred together, the math teacher’s voice droning on
somewhere in the background— closer now, but he was already
committed. If he could just finish, maybe—
A hand came down on his paper.
His stomach dropped.
Elliot looked up, color draining from his face as he met the
teacher’s unimpressed stare.
“Mister Emerson,” the teacher said coolly, holding up the
half-scribbled worksheet, “we’ve spoken about coming to class
prepared.”
“I—I’m sorry!” Elliot blurted, sitting up straighter. “It was
just really late, and I was trying to get work done and I
thought I could finish before—”
A snort came from the desk behind him.
“Was the work named Caelum?” someone whispered far too loudly.
“Because I saw that book in your bag.”
A few kids nearby laughed. Elliot’s ears burned as he reached
back to shove the book deeper into his backpack— its worn spine
and dog-eared pages already a dead giveaway.
“It’s not like that,” he muttered, voice cracking just enough to
betray him.
“Uh-huh,” another voice chimed in.
“Sure, man. Totally normal to reread the same chapter five
times.”
The teacher cleared their throat sharply, cutting off the
laughter.
“Enough. Mister Emerson, see me after class.”
Elliot nodded, mortified, sinking lower in his chair as the
lesson resumed. His pencil hovered uselessly above the page now,
mind no longer on equations— just on the quiet comfort of a
story he loved, and the crush he’d never admit to anyone out
loud.
—
Huntor had already taken his seat when the room began to settle.
Math was always loud at first — chairs scraping, lockers still
slamming down the hall, voices overlapping until Mr. Grim’s
presence slowly sucked the life out of it. The man didn’t have
to raise his voice. He just stood at the front of the room, eyes
cold and sharp behind thin glasses, and everyone remembered
where they were.
Huntor pulled his notebook out neatly, pen lined up just right
along the edge of the desk.
Head down.
Don’t draw attention.
Grim loved picking on kids who stood out.
Which, unfortunately, Huntor always did.
The door opened quietly.
Huntor glanced up before he could stop himself.
Another boy slipped in — tall, lanky, hoodie wrinkled, eyeliner
freshly redone but still a little smudged at the edges. He moved
like someone used to being late, like he didn’t care who
noticed… but Huntor caught the tension in his shoulders anyway.
Messy layers.
Ripped jeans.
Chains.
It wasn’t polished — but it worked.
Huntor’s eyes tracked him for half a second too long before he
forced them back to his paper.
Cool.
Rebel.
Definitely intentional.
He fought the urge to sketch the outfit later.
A few minutes after that, the door opened again — slower this
time.
A girl in a hoodie slipped in with a hall pass, hair still damp
from practice, energy humming off her like static. Her sneakers
squeaked softly on the floor as she headed toward her seat.
Simple. Sporty. Comfortable.
Huntor nodded to himself.
Functional fashion. He respected it.
Then—
He noticed her glance toward the same boy who’d come in late.
Huntor pretended to be deeply invested in the corner of his
notebook while very much noticing everything.
Interesting.
More shuffling.
Someone behind him got scolded.
Huntor flinched slightly as Mr. Grim’s voice cut through the
room like ice.
He sank a little lower in his chair.
Definitely not the time to be staring around.
Still, his eyes flicked sideways.
Another boy was being teased — quiet, nervous, clutching a book
like it was his lifeline. His clothes were neat but
soft-looking, worn like comfort mattered more than style.
Cute in a different way.
Huntor quickly looked away when laughter broke out.
He hated stuff like that.
Mr. Grim turned to the board with a sharp tap of chalk.
“Open your books.”
Huntor obeyed immediately.
No sketching.
No looking around.
No breathing wrong.
The man had a sixth sense for trouble.
Still… Huntor’s mind wandered.
The rebel kid’s layered chains.
The athlete girl’s worn sneakers.
The quiet boy’s oversized hoodie.
So many different styles.
So many stories.
His fingers twitched, itching for a pencil.
But he kept his head down.
Kept still.
Mr. Grim prowled between desks like a shark.
Huntor focused hard on the numbers — reminding himself he could
sketch later.
Right now was about surviving the class.
But even as he stared at equations, his eyes kept drifting just
a little — careful, subtle — taking in colors, fabrics,
silhouettes.
Inspiration was everywhere.
He just had to not get caught looking.
------
Graham leaned back in his chair the place.
Math class.
Of course.
If there was a hell built specifically to annoy him, it would
smell like chalk dust and disappointment.
Mr. Grim stalked the front of the room like a damn funeral
director, tapping the board sharply with chalk. The man always
dressed in black or gray, face permanently carved into a scowl
like happiness had personally offended him.
Graham snorted softly.
Here comes the Reaper.
He glanced around, eyes flicking over the room — catching the
sporty girl sliding in with her pass, the quiet kid getting
roasted behind him, and—
Oh.
Pretty Boy.
The guy a few rows away with the perfect hair and clean jacket.
Graham smirked.
Someone woke up early.
Before he could think better of it, he leaned toward the kid
next to him and whispered — loud enough for half the row to
hear:
“Yo… the Reaper strikes again. Grim out here lookin’ like he’s
about to collect souls before lunch.”
A few muffled laughs followed.
Mr. Grim’s chalk froze mid-board.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
He turned.
“Alders.”
Graham straightened just a bit, still smiling.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you care to repeat what you just said?”
Graham considered it.
Then shrugged.
“Nah. But I will say, sir, if you keep staring at people like
that, someone’s gonna start bringing holy water to class.”
A couple of students choked trying not to laugh.
Mr. Grim’s face darkened.
“That’s detention.”
“Again?” Graham sighed dramatically. “Man, you’re obsessed with
me.”
“Office. After class.”
Graham lifted his hands in surrender.
“Add it to the collection.”
A minute later, Mr. Grim zeroed in on the quiet kid behind him.
“Mister Emerson. See me after class.”
The kid looked like he was about to pass out.
Graham felt his jaw tighten.
Grim always did this.
Always picked the nervous ones.
Always enjoyed it.
Graham turned halfway in his seat.
“C’mon, man,” he muttered. “He didn’t even do anything.”
Mr. Grim snapped around.
“Excuse me?”
Graham didn’t back down.
“You heard me. You’re always on him. You ever try teachin’
instead of actin’ like a prison guard?”
The room went dead silent.
Even the buzzing lights seemed to hush.
Mr. Grim’s lips pressed thin.
“That’s another detention.”
Graham blinked.
Then shrugged.
“Cool.”
Somewhere in the room, someone snorted.
Graham finally leaned back again, crossing his arms.
Didn’t care.
Never did.
The guy already hated him.
What was one more mark?
He glanced sideways toward Pretty Boy again — catching him
trying real hard not to look involved.
Graham smirked faintly.
Relax, dude.
Somebody’s gotta say it.
He shifted in his seat, already knowing today would be long.
But at least it wouldn’t be boring.
And if standing up to Grim meant more detention?
Whatever.
He was used to it.
—
The classroom noise folded away like a page as Toni sank into
the easy world of his sketchbook. All that mattered was the
little squirrel-things he was inventing — whiskers like inked
calligraphy, eyes that caught starlight, wings folded as if they
were waiting for an excuse to take off. Pencil against paper
made its own slow music; the rest of the room blurred into
indistinct shapes.
Then a slam — a desk? a door? — and suddenly his attention
hiccupped. He looked up just in time to watch Mr. Grim pinning
the emo kid and the nervous boy in the same hard stare. Toni’s
perfectly arched eyebrow lifted, not out of righteous anger so
much as curiosity: imbalance was an interesting thing to notice.
He spoke without thinking the way people throw pebbles at ponds.
“Not very teacherly, sir,” he said, voice soft and oddly amused.
“Cracking your proverbial whip — folks call you the Grim Reaper,
you know. Very dramatic.” He let the sentence drift like a
feather.
For his trouble: detention. Toni rolled his eyes as if the mark
on his record were a speck of dust. He tapped his pencil against
the sketchbook, already composing the complaint he’d make later
— a polite email, a phone call, an artfully phrased note from
his parents that would smooth everything out. He was hardly
bothered; consequences for him were rarely permanent, and the
world still smelled faintly of graphite and summer trees.
---
Morning had left a tightness in Riko’s shoulders that didn’t
belong to math class. He’d watched his sister climb the bus and
felt the small relief of that door closing behind her; the rest
of the day was negotiation — with time, with school, with
whatever scraped the night before.
When the sporty girl sat near him, he felt it like a breech in
his guard: a small, stupid warmth that he didn’t let anyone
chart. He caught her glance and looked away fast, fingers
curling against the strap of his bag like an anchor. He didn’t
smile. He didn’t make a move. Observation was cheaper and safer
than risk.
The teacher handed out detentions like a blunt instrument this
morning. Riko watched — not the drama, but the shape of it: who
moved first, who flinched, which seats left clear paths. His
eyes tracked exits, shoulders of others, the teacher’s angle. He
kept his mouth shut. Better to be invisible than to be noticed
for the wrong thing.
Every so often he stole a glance at Aria — a heartbeat’s worth —
then returned his gaze to the room. He stayed small in his seat,
alert and careful, breathing slow. If trouble came, he’d be
ready; if it didn’t, he’d be quietly grateful. Either way, he
would keep watching.
#Post#: 1185--------------------------------------------------
Re: Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:26 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Emmett still heard the whisper.
Graham—the class clown.
Defending him.
That alone was enough to make his fingers curl tighter around
his pencil. Another detention, probably.
He hadn’t expected anyone to do that. Not for him. Usually
people just laughed or made quiet comments about his head being
in the clouds, and he pretended not to notice.
That was easier.
This wasn’t.
He swallowed, staring at the desk. What if being lost in his
thoughts wasn’t such a bad thing? What if it was better than
paying attention to a world that never really paid attention to
him back?
A voice cut through the room, soft and a little amused, and
Emmett’s head snapped up before he could stop himself. Another
one? And it was Toni of all people. Someone he didn’t think
would look his way.
His ears warmed instantly. He looked away again, embarrassed for
reasons he didn’t fully understand.
They were both… nice. Kind of cute, too, which only made it
worse.
They’d spoken up for him. Risked detention just to help.
Or—well—that’s what it felt like to Emmett.
He chewed lightly on his lip, heart thudding as something
hopeful crept in.
Maybe they were just being nice.
But maybe… maybe this was how people became friends.
The idea made him smile before he could stop himself—small and
uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel that happy
yet. His grip on the pencil loosened, and for once, he didn’t
mind being pulled out of his thoughts—especially if it meant
maybe talking to them after.
——-
Aria rolled her eyes the moment Graham opened his mouth. The guy
was a walking warning sign—loud, reckless, always one comment
away from detention. She’d already written him off.
Then he pivoted. Defended Emmett.
That stopped her short.
She didn’t jump in, didn’t add fuel, but her opinion of him
shifted a notch whether she liked it or not. It was stupid,
really—one decent moment shouldn’t count for much.
Still, it did. She filed it away, sharp and unwilling to forget.
When the room settled again, Aria tried to refocus on the
lesson.
Tried.
Her attention snagged anyway, sliding sideways without
permission.
She glanced at Riko—and immediately looked away when he caught
it, heat prickling under her skin like she’d been caught
reaching for something she hadn’t meant to touch.
Annoying.
What was worse was realizing it wasn’t one-sided.
A few minutes later, she felt it—that quiet awareness of being
watched. She looked up just in time to catch his eyes on her,
and this time he was the one to look away first, shoulders
stiffening like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
That shouldn’t have mattered. It did.
After that, it became a pattern—quick looks stolen between notes
and silence, never held long enough to mean anything, never
brief enough to be nothing.
Aria kept her face neutral, jaw set, but her focus splintered
anyway.
She told herself it was coincidence.
Still, she stayed sharp, half-aware of him in the room,
wondering when—if—the glances would stop.
They didn’t.
——
The bell rang, and Emmett grabbed his things as others began to
file out. Him standing at the front desk.
Grimm’s voice followed him, sharp and practiced, as a detention
slip was pressed into his hand—another one, heavy as a sentence.
“Warned you countless times,” Grimm said. “And your father will
be getting a phone call.”
Emmett froze. His shoulders sagged as the words settled in. He
knew his father wouldn’t be angry—not really—but that almost
made it worse. He hated those calls. Hated knowing someone else
had to hear about his mistakes.
When he finally stepped into the hallway, the noise and motion
hit him all at once, and with it came a second wind. If he was
already in trouble… he might as well do one brave thing today.
He spotted Graham and Toni just ahead, laughter trailing behind
them. Before he could overthink it, Emmett hurried to catch up.
“Hey—uh… thanks,” he said, offering a small, earnest smile. His
fingers drummed nervously against the stack of books in his arms
as his gaze slipped to the side. “For earlier. That was… really
kind.”
He hesitated, heart thudding, then pushed on before he could
lose his nerve.
“Do you—um—want to eat lunch together?”
The question hung there, hopeful and fragile, like he wasn’t
sure he was allowed to ask.
——-
When the bell rang, Aria finally opened her mouth.
“Hey—um.”
Immediately she wished she’d said something else. She slowed her
steps so they fell in line with Rikos, eyes fixed ahead like the
lockers were suddenly fascinating.
“I noticed you kept looking over,” she said, quieter than she’d
planned. Not accusing. Just… honest. “I mean—I did too. So.
Fair’s fair.”
She risked a glance at him, brief and careful, then looked away
fast. Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag, curling
and uncurling like she couldn’t decide what to do with them.
“I’m not mad or anything,” she added too quickly. “Just didn’t
want it to be… weird.”
A beat passed, the hallway buzzing around them.
Then, almost like an afterthought, she tilted her head slightly.
“You always sit like you’re waiting to bolt,” she said. “If you
are—the stairs by the science wing are quicker.”
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt. She shoved her free
hand into her right pocket, twisted her bag strap with her left
—anything to look normal while her stomach did flips.
—
Graham’s head tilted slightly toward the voice that spoke up a
few moments later — the one that used the nickname he’d coined
for Grim during their very first encounter freshman year. His
lip twitched into a crooked grin before smoothing out when he
heard the other teen earn detention for it.
He kept his mouth shut after that.
Didn’t need detention for the next full month.
He was already half-considering just not showing up for it
anyway. It was his last year, after all. If they failed him,
he’d go for his GED. Easy enough.
Still, it didn’t sit right with him — the way Grim always went
after the soft-spoken dreamer.
When the torturous class finally ended, Ace was out of his chair
instantly, slender frame slipping between other students as he
made his escape.
He hadn’t gone far before he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
Turning, he spotted the bookish teen he’d spoken up for.
A chuckle slipped out at the guy calling him kind.
“Kind?” Graham echoed with a crooked grin. “Never been called
that before. But no worries, short king — us outliers gotta
stick together.” He added a wink for emphasis.
The next question made him pause mid-step, eyebrow lifting in
surprise.
“If I’m not suspended before lunch, why not,” he said easily.
“Though fair warning — if your lunch looks good, I might filch
some of it.”
With that, he started walking again, already whistling a pirate
shanty as he headed down the hall toward the stairwell that led
to the rooftop.
Time for his first stolen smoke break of the day.
If he was a few minutes late to history, Mrs. Henry wouldn’t bat
an eye.
-++++
Huntor finally let out a quiet breath of relief once math class
ended.
He stayed seated until the rush toward the door thinned out,
carefully packing his notebook and pen back into his bag before
heading into the hallway himself. Of course, that put him right
behind the blond sporty girl and Riko — close enough to overhear
their conversation.
Before Huntor’s brain could catch up with his mouth, the words
slipped out.
“You two should just say what your eyes are saying, You like
each other. Might as well take a chance. What’ve you got to
lose?”
The second they left him, his face flushed hot with
embarrassment.
Realizing what he’d just said — and who he’d said it to — panic
hit.
They could probably flatten him without breaking a sweat.
“Shit— just forget that came tumbling out of my mouth,” he
blurted, ducking his head as he hurried past them.
Why did he talk?
Why of all moments did he have to open his mouth?
He was probably about to become the target of a prank… or worse.
His steps quickened as he made his way toward his next class,
trying to remember if either of them shared it with him.
Hopefully luck would be on his side for once.
——
The rest of math class slipped past Toni without leaving a mark.
Numbers droned. Chalk scratched. Somewhere, a voice scolded and
another protested—but Toni had already folded himself back into
the margins of his sketchbook, reworking the curve of a tail,
the tilt of a tiny creature’s ears. Reality was secondary. Paper
was kinder.
He only noticed class had ended when the bell rang sharp enough
to cut through his thoughts.
Automatically, he stood, sketchbook tucked under one arm, pencil
still caught between his fingers. His feet carried him into the
hallway before his brain bothered to catch up, drifting along
with the flow of students like a leaf in a current. He didn’t
realize he’d fallen into step beside the redheaded troublemaker
until a breathless voice called out behind them.
Toni turned just in time to see the bookish kid—Emmett,
right?—hovering on the edge of courage.
“Lunch?”
The word lit up something bright and reckless in Toni’s head.
His eyebrow arched, a grin spreading as if the idea had been
waiting for an excuse to exist.
“Oh,” he said, delighted. “Yes. Absolutely yes.” He tilted his
head, already halfway elsewhere. “There’s this Greek place I’ve
been meaning to try. They have the best spanakopita. Come on.”
He didn’t wait for agreement—never did. With cheerful
confidence, Toni looped his free arm through Emmett’s,
sketchbook pressed against his chest, and began steering him
down the hall like this was the most natural thing in the world.
“School lunches are basically poison anyway,” he added
dramatically, waving his pencil for emphasis as he glanced back
at the redhead. “You coming?”
Moments later, they were outside, sunlight hitting chrome and
glass.
Toni stopped beside his sleek, absurdly expensive car like it
hadn’t even occurred to him that it might be a surprise.
“Shotgun?” he offered, already unlocking it.
—
Riko hadn’t expected Aria to say anything.
He especially hadn’t expected her to call him out so
calmly—owning the glances like it was no big deal. His ears
burned, heat crawling up his neck as his mind scrambled for
footing. This wasn’t how things went. He kept his distance.
People looked, he didn’t respond. Simple. Safe.
Apparently, she hadn’t gotten the memo.
Before he could figure out what to say, Huntor breezed past
them, dropping his truth bomb with a smile and zero
self-preservation. Riko felt his stomach drop.
Too much. Too fast.
His instincts screamed exit, and he listened.
“I—uh,” he started, already shifting his weight back, eyes
flicking toward the stairs. “I’ve got class.” It came out
wrong—half statement, half plea. “We can… talk later. Maybe.”
He didn’t wait for a response, already stepping away, shoulders
tense like he expected someone to grab him back. As he moved, he
caught one last glimpse of Aria—confident, steady,
unreadable—and that somehow made it worse.
Riko disappeared into the crowd, pulse loud in his ears.
He told himself it was better this way.
Still, his grip on his bag stayed tight long after he’d reached
the next hallway, eyes scanning out of habit—even as his
thoughts kept drifting back to *them*.
——
Emmett blushed instantly. He hadn’t expected *both* of them to
agree so easily.
“I… I don’t mind,” he said, fingers twisting together before he
could stop them. “The filching, I mean…” The admission came out
in a small, careful voice, like he was testing the words before
letting them exist.
Toni’s arm looped through his, warm and certain, and Emmett’s
heart gave an undignified little jump.
*So close*, he thought, a quiet thrill blooming beneath the
nerves—like the moment in a book just before something went
wrong in an interesting way.
“Greek?” he echoed, blinking. “I’ve never had Greek before…” His
glasses slid down his nose as he was tugged along, and he pushed
them back up, a little flustered. “Wait—now? But it’s still
morning!”
He glanced around, lowering his voice. “Won’t we get in
trouble?”
The feeling settled in anyway—uneasy but warm—like he’d stepped
into one of those stories where the careful character gets swept
along by braver people. He’d always
wondered what that felt like.
Now he was finding out.
——-
Aria stood there for exactly three seconds after Riko
disappeared, her face burning hot.
Why did that guy open his mouth?
*He isn’t wrong.*
She flushed even more, fingers tightening around her bag strap.
Why did that thought even cross her mind?
Her eyes drifted over the students around her. Whispers.
Giggles. She swore she heard her name—ignored it.
Why did she feel like this?
*Face it, girl—you’re crushing on him. Do something.*
Tina.
Of course that memory surfaced now.
Her hand drifted to her phone, pretending to check something—but
the screen still showed the last frozen image of her and her
friend.
Her heart thudded so loud it felt like it was giving her away.
*”We can… talk later. Maybe.*”
Why did that phrase make her uneasy?
*Don’t be stupid, Aria. “Later” never comes. There’s nothing
like the present.*
She sighed softly.
She knew that. She’d lived that. It always led to regret.
Her grip tightened around her phone. Aria sucked in a breath,
heat flaring across her face again, and moved.
She weaved through the hallway, heart pounding harder with every
step, until she spotted Riko ahead—shoulders tight, walking like
he expected the floor to give out beneath him.
Tina’s voice surfaced again, clear as ever.
For a split second, Aria almost stopped.
“*Stop thinking about it. You’ll talk yourself out of it. It
might get messy—but what confession isn’t? Shoot your shot
already.”*
Riko glanced around near the next hall, like he wasn’t sure if
he was being followed.
“Riko—”
Her voice cracked in a weird, awful way. She winced, but didn’t
stop.
“Riko, wait.”
She pushed forward and caught up to him, her fingers brushing,
then catching, the sleeve of his hoodie.
Her cheeks burned.
She was painfully aware of the space around them—students
passing, eyes flicking their way, how very not private this was.
But if she waited for perfect, she’d never speak at all.
“I—” She swallowed, fingers curling into her sleeves. “You said
later. And I just…” Her gaze flicked away, then back, forcing
herself to hold his. “Later doesn’t always happen.”
The words came out quieter than she wanted, but they were
honest—raw in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
“I’m not good at this,” she added, almost apologetically.
A pause. A breath.
“But that guy—” She shook her head, a small, embarrassed huff
escaping her. “He wasn’t wrong.”
*Just shoot your shot. If it misses, it’s okay. It’s not like
it’s in the end of the world— right?*
“So,” Aria finished, shoulders tense but squared, “you’re
cute—and I’d like to eat lunch together. Talk.”
Finally got it out.
She waited.
Not hiding.
Not running.
Just standing there in the hallway—
blushing, awkward, heart wide open
Graham’s grin spread slow and wicked the second Toni mentioned
leaving campus.
An off-campus lunch?
Oh, this day was officially improving.
He pivoted on his heel, boots squeaking lightly against the
floor as he fell into step behind them.
“Ooooh, an off-campus field trip?” he drawled cheerfully. “Now
that’s way more appealing than history and all the other
soul-sucking classes I’m supposed to be suffering through.”
Toni glanced back just as Graham threw him a lazy salute.
“Lead the way, richie rich.”
Outside, when Toni stopped beside the sleek, ridiculous car,
Graham let out a low whistle.
“Damn,” he said appreciatively. “That thing cost more than my
entire group home.”
He circled it once like a curious cat before stopping at the
back door and yanking it open.
“Alright, bookworm,” Graham said lightly, nodding toward the
passenger seat. “You’re riding shotgun.”
Graham was already sliding into the back seat and stretching
his long legs out like he owned the place. “Rule of the road.
Nervous first-timers sit up front so they don’t puke. Just
Kidding,” Graham smirked. “Mostly.”
He leaned forward between the seats, resting his arms casually
on the headrests.
“Relax, Emmett. If we get caught ditching, I’ll take the fall.
I’m basically a professional trouble magnet.” he added, catching
the nervousness coming off of Emmett.
Then his eyes flicked to Toni, grin returning full force.
“So, chauffeur… this Greek place, how far off is it? And more
importantly—are we blasting music or Beethoven?”
--
A tiny, delighted gasp escaped when Emmett confessed he’d never
had Greek. Toni laughed — the kind of laugh that sounded like
sunlight stepping into a room. “No way. We absolutely must fix
that.” He popped the car door and slid into the driver’s seat
with the casual confidence of someone who assumes the world will
always rearrange itself to suit his whims.
The engine purred under him like a contented animal. He flicked
his wrist and Bach poured from the speakers — calm, precise, and
a little dramatic. “By the time we get there it’ll be
lunchtime,” he said, grin widening into mischief. “It’s a bit of
a drive — like, an hour and a half — so we’ll be famished and
ready for the best spanakopita you’ve ever met.”
He already sounded three ideas ahead: routes, playlists, stops
for coffee. “I mainly listen to the classics,” he added, tapping
the dashboard. “But if you want something else, go ahead — my
Spotify’s open. Pick whatever makes you brave.” He held the
phone out like it was nothing, as if privilege were simply
another useful tool he kept in the glovebox.
“And don’t worry about detention.” Toni made the smallest,
theatrical scoff. “I’ve already told my dad. He’ll send a very
disappointed email and then take me out for dinner to make it
dramatic. Detention is…temporary theatre.” He cackled softly at
his own phrasing, then offered Emmett a reassuring, warm look.
“Buckle up. Adventure’s better than school pizza.” he mused
playfully as they pulled out of the parking lot.
—
Riko froze when Aria called after him—her voice thin and urgent
in a hallway that felt suddenly too loud. The tug on his sleeve
was small but shocking, like someone had reached into his chest
and rearranged his rhythm. He hadn’t meant to be seen; he’d
never meant to be noticed.
Now here she was, standing close enough that he could smell
laundry detergent and something faintly citrus. His tongue felt
thick. Words stalled. He fumbled for them like he was searching
in his pockets.
“I—uh.” He swallowed, cheeks burning. “Okay. Yeah. Lunch.
I—guess we can do that.” The sentence came out scattered, polite
and awkward in equal parts. He forced a smile that didn’t reach
his eyes, because smiling felt like permission and permission
came with risk.
Then he realized they were headed the same way — the same
classroom. Dreadful realization snapped through him like a cool
hand. He tucked his hands into his hoodie, avoiding eye contact
but keeping her in the corner of his attention.
When he walked to his seat he moved like someone leaving a
shelter: careful, deliberate. Inside, his stomach flipped, but
there was a small, stubborn thread of something that felt
suspiciously like hope.
—
Emmett blinked, still half a second behind the moment like his
brain was buffering. He fumbled with the seatbelt, nearly
missing the latch the first time before finally clicking it in
place.
“Uh—okay. Shotgun. Got it,” he said, pushing his glasses up his
nose with one finger. His mouth twitched when Graham mentioned
puking. “For the record, I have *never* thrown up in a car. I
did once feel… emotionally unwell on a school bus, but that was
unrelated.”
He glanced back at Graham, then forward at Toni, the confidence
in the driver’s seat both impressive and deeply unsettling. An
hour and a half registered a beat late.
“Wait—an *hour and a half*?” he repeated, voice cracking just
slightly before he cleared his throat. “I mean. That’s fine.
Totally fine. I like… drives. Very narrative. Beginning, middle,
end.”
Bach filled the car, and Emmett’s shoulders eased despite
himself. “Oh. Bach’s good,” he admitted, surprising even
himself. “Structured. Predictable. He doesn’t—surprise you.”
He hesitated when Toni offered the phone, shaking his head
quickly. “No, no, this is great. I don’t need brave music. I’ll
just—” he gestured vaguely at the window, “—mentally prepare
for… spinach pastry.”
He took a breath, then squared his shoulders like someone
bracing for destiny.
So this is what a start to an adventure felt like.
He wondered how his father would take it if he found out he
skipped.
———
Aria saw the blush bloom across Riko’s face as he fumbled for
words, his breath catching like he hadn’t expected the moment to
ask anything of him. Her hand stayed curled in the fabric of his
hoodie—too tight, too long—like a lifeline she hadn’t realized
she was gripping.
It took a second. Maybe two. Time did that strange stretching
thing, the kind that made her heart drum in her ears. But in the
end, it was a yes. Not clean or effortless—more like a shot that
kissed the rim, hesitated, then tipped in.
No swish.
But it counted.
She let go then, suddenly aware of her fingers still hooked in
his sleeve. Heat rushed to her face, bright and undeniable,
mirroring his own. Still, a small smile slipped free—soft,
hopeful, unmistakably real.
Aria walked into class—science, she registered distantly, as if
the word belonged to someone else’s schedule. She wondered, not
for the first time, how many classes they shared, how many
near-misses had quietly passed them by. Her eyes skimmed the
room until they landed on Riko, already seated behind her.
The teacher walked in then, heels clicking, presence snapping
the room to attention. Aria turned forward, eyes on the board
just as the dreaded words dropped into the room.
“Group project.”
Chaos followed—chairs scraping, voices lifting, students
gravitating toward familiar faces. Aria froze, fingers
tightening around her pen. She stayed seated at the end of the
row, suddenly aware of the empty space around her.
A pause. Then—
“Aria,” the teacher said, scanning the room. “You’ll be with
Riko and Huntor. Get together and get started.”
Aria’s breath caught. She glanced back, a small spark of resolve
settling in her chest, and gathered her things.
She moved her chair over to the two boys—the one she’d finally
found the courage to speak to, and the other who’d quietly
nudged her forward when she needed it most.
Huntor was already sinking into himself, shoulders hunched, gaze
fixed anywhere but her, like he might disappear if he tried hard
enough.
Aria’s lips twitched, soft with understanding. *Still
embarrassed,* she thought.
She leaned in just slightly, voice low and gentle.
“Hey—don’t sweat it,” she said. “I’m not mad.”
#Post#: 1186--------------------------------------------------
Re: Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:31 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Graham leaned forward between the seats, eyes lighting up the
second Toni mentioned Greek food and a road trip like it was the
best sentence he’d heard all year.
“Greek, huh?” he said thoughtfully. “Can’t say I’ve ever had it
myself… but I’m not picky. If it’s edible, I’m down.”
When Toni held out the phone, Graham’s grin went feral.
“Ohhh, a road trip ost?” he said, rubbing his hands together
dramatically. “Now you’re speakin’ my language. I got this.”
He took the phone with care, already scrolling through playlists
like a professional at work.
“It’ll give me a chance to practice my DJ skills,” he added
proudly. “I got range.”
He leaned back into the seat, buckling up with a click, feet
stretching out comfortably as Bach finished its elegant run.
Once the final notes faded, Graham tapped his first song into
place — a gritty alternative rock track rolling in with
distorted guitars and steady drums.
“Alright,” he said, nodding along immediately.
A beat passed.
Then—
“Hey, if I crack the window, you mind if I smoke?” Graham asked
casually, already inching it down a little.
He glanced between them in the mirror.
“And if my music taste is too aggressive or whatever, just say
the word and I’ll switch it up.”
A smirk tugged at his mouth.
“I left out the face-melting screamo. Didn’t think you two were
ready for that level of character development yet.”
—-
And as fate would have it, Huntor’s luck had officially run out.
Not only did he share this class with both Riko and Aria — but
now he was stuck in a group project with them.
For a whole month.
Huntor hovered awkwardly beside the desk as he pulled his chair
closer, movements careful like he was afraid of bumping into
something fragile and breaking it. His shoulders curled in on
themselves instinctively, posture shrinking as if he could fold
into the floor and vanish.
Why was he always like this?
He swallowed, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag
before finally sitting.
Aria’s soft voice cut through his spiral.
“Hey — don’t sweat it. I’m not mad.”
Huntor blinked, genuinely startled.
He hadn’t expected kindness.
His eyes lifted slowly to meet hers, wide and unsure.
“You… you really aren’t mad?” he asked quietly.
His gaze flicked to Riko for half a second, searching for any
sign of anger, irritation, or the silent promise of payback.
There was none.
Just that guarded tension Riko always seemed to carry.
“I’m sorry,” Huntor rushed on before anyone could respond. “I
didn’t mean to butt in like that. I just— I heard what you were
saying and it kinda sounded like something straight out of a
romance movie and my mouth just… did the thing where it talks
before my brain catches up.”
Heat crept up his neck again.
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you or anything,” he added
quickly. “I just thought— sometimes people don’t take chances
and then they regret it forever and—”
He stopped himself, realizing he was rambling.
Classic.
Huntor cleared his throat softly.
“But yeah. I can totally keep my opinions to myself from now on.
Promise.”
He offered a small, sheepish smile.
“And… um… if you want me to do most of the project work, I can,”
he said, already trying to be helpful. “I’m pretty organized.
And I’m good with presentations and visuals and stuff.”
His fingers twitched like they wanted to sketch even now.
“I won’t make things awkward. I swear.”
Inside, his heart was hammering.
Great.
A month of working with the girl who accidentally overheard him
and the guy who could definitely crush him if he wanted.
This was fine.
Totally fine.
-—
Toni watched the contrast like it was a private little show:
Emmett fiddling with the seatbelt up front, nervous and earnest,
while Graham claimed the back like it was his living room and
queued up a song with theatrical flair. It made Toni
smile—softly indulgent, like someone watching a favorite,
predictable scene play out again.
When Graham mentioned smoking, Toni’s nose wrinkled in mock
horror. “Heavens, no,” he said, the words clipped but playful.
“Leather seats. My mother would have a—how do you say—fit of
dramatic proportions.” The tone left no room for argument; it
was a light rule, but a rule nonetheless.
“If you absolutely need to, we’ll stop,” he allowed after a
beat, as if granting permission were a magnanimous gesture. “But
please — consider the seats.”
He shifted, hands settling on the wheel with a lazy confidence.
The city blurred into highway; the engine answered like a
willing thing. Toni’s face lit up when he pitched the little
introductions. “I’m Toni,” he said as if revealing something
thrilling. “I’m shockingly bad with names, but very good at
making sure people are fed and mildly entertained.” He laughed,
bright and infectious. “Road trips are perfect for that.” He
revved once—playful, not reckless—and the car moved like a scene
someone had carefully scored.
“Also,” he added, glancing back with genuine warmth, “if
anything happens, my dad will theatrically scold someone and
then buy us dinner. Consider it an old-money warranty.” He
offered Emmett a conspiratorial grin. “Buckle up. Adventure’s
the necessary compensation for bad school pizza.”
----
Riko wanted, fiercely, to dissolve into the floor.
Group projects were small prisons; group projects with Aria and
Huntor were a sentence with no parole. He felt the heat creep up
his neck again when Huntor started offering to do everything,
and Aria’s quiet kindness lodged in him like a foreign
object—painful and oddly precious.
He flipped his notebook open with too much force, pen already in
hand as if motion could steady him. Pages filled with cramped,
practical notes—bullet points, timelines, things that smelled of
control. “I don’t let others do my work for me,” he said, voice
low and blunt, the words more a shield than a warning. He didn’t
want favors. He didn’t want debt.
Still, he kept listening. He watched Aria’s hands as she spoke,
the small tilt of Huntor’s shoulders when he apologized, the way
the classroom light hit the edge of the table. He kept his head
down when he needed to, eyes up when it mattered. He would not
volunteer much; he would not be indebted. But he’d show up.
Quietly. Reluctantly. Reliably.
Emmett paused at the mention of smoking, his nose wrinkling in
reflex—Toni’s expression mirrored it so perfectly he almost
laughed. Almost.
Relief washed over him when Toni spoke up.
“Might as well get it out there. I don’t do well with secondhand
smoke—I have asthma,” he said quietly, as if offering a footnote
to their conversation. “Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head,
sheepish.
*Names,* Emmett realized belatedly. They were swapping them like
bookmarks in a story they hadn’t started yet.
“I’m good with names,” he said, leaning forward with a grin that
was more about reassurance than charm. “Emmett. And… not sure
how my dad’s going to take this one. He’s not the angry type,
but… well, this might do it.”
He shrugged, the motion almost theatrical. “I’m his only kid, so
he worries. Always has.” He tilted his head, as if he could see
the worry on his father’s face like ink on a page.
—-
Aria blinked at Huntor, taking in the eagerness that clung to
him like a second skin—like someone desperate to be in
everyone’s good graces.
A thought came to her mind and she quietly said. “You’re right—
an old friend once said there is nothing like the present…
thanks for the push.” She said to push her hair around her ear.
“And speak your mind— I don’t mind it.” She said simply.
She heard Riko speak, and a small, unexpected smile flickered
across her face.
“We’ll divide the work, Huntor. I’m not a user,” she said
simply. She’d had her share of group members who did little to
nothing—it had never been fun.
A paper was passed around, and she read it carefully. A homemade
renewable energy experiment: they were to build small solar,
wind, or water-powered devices and measure efficiency under
different conditions. Most of the work would happen outside
school—constructing the devices at home, testing them outdoors,
and recording data over several weeks.
She made a brief face. *Great. I’ll have to let Mom know in case
we need to host someone.* she thought to herself.
“Looks like we need to make a homemade renewable energy source,”
she said, tapping her pen to the paper. “Let’s divide the
research, figure out what works best, and then build from
there.”
“Means out-of-class work,” she added, thinking aloud. “I’ve got
basketball practice, so if we can meet at a library sometime,
that could work. But the building part… that has to happen at
someone’s house.” She paused, weighing the logistics.
“We just need to figure out what works best, then we can go from
there,” she said, starting to jot down ideas.
“You guys pick what you want to try. Then we can show each other
what we think and see if we can come together on one plan,” she
added, letting out a small breath as she focused on the paper.
—
Graham paused mid–head bob when both of them wrinkled their
noses at the idea of smoking.
For a second, he looked almost offended.
Then Emmett mentioned asthma.
The swagger softened just a notch.
“Alright, alright,” Graham said, lifting his hands in surrender.
“I’ll hold off.”
He leaned back against the seat with a small shrug.
“No big deal. I’d hate to trigger your asthma or something.” His
eyes flicked toward Toni. “And since it’s your car, I’ll be
respectful and not stink it up.”
A beat.
“Even though I look like the type who totally would.”
A smirk.
When names came up, Graham straightened a little.
“I’m probably only gonna remember your names like… half the
time,” he admitted easily. “I may or may not give you random
nicknames depending on vibes.”
He pointed lazily between them.
“But officially I’m Graham. Most people call me Ace.”
The grin returned, sharp and playful.
He caught Emmett’s reaction to the music and chuckled.
“Hey, that’s okay,” Graham said. “But honestly? You’re missing
out.”
He drummed his fingers against the seat.
“Screamo and metal are peak ‘let out all the pent-up anger’
music. Especially after dealing with stupid teachers.”
A meaningful glance toward the school they’d just escaped.
Then the talk shifted to dads.
Graham’s smile faded just slightly.
He turned his head toward the window, watching buildings blur
past.
“Yeah… I haven’t really had parents since forever,” he said
quietly. “Probably for the best. They’d be real disappointed in
how much I slack off.”
He shrugged it off like it didn’t matter.
(It totally did.)
“But whatever.”
He turned back toward them, energy snapping back into place.
“So,” Graham said, eyes bright again. “What do you two do for
fun?”
He ticked things off on his fingers.
“I skateboard, do parkour, and make industrial art. Mostly
graffiti. The weird kind.”
A pause.
“Your turn.”
--++++
Huntor stiffened at first when Riko spoke, the bluntness
catching him off guard.
For a split second he worried he’d already messed things up.
But then Aria followed it up — calm, fair, not annoyed at all —
and something in his chest finally loosened.
“Oh,” he breathed softly, shoulders easing. “Okay. Yeah. That’s…
that’s fair.”
He gave a small, relieved laugh under his breath.
“I wasn’t trying to take over or anything,” he said quickly,
though his tone was lighter now, less panicked. “I just like
having things organized. It makes me feel less like everything’s
about to explode.”
He glanced between them, then back at the paper as Aria
explained the project.
Renewable energy.
Building stuff.
Outside of school.
His brain immediately started spinning with visuals.
“Well,” Huntor said slowly, tapping his pen thoughtfully against
the desk, “I’m not amazing with like… hardcore science stuff,
but I’m pretty good with design.”
He flipped open his notebook, already sketching loose shapes.
“If we do a solar thing, I could help design something that
looks clean but still works. Like, angling the panels right and
making sure it’s stable and not ugly.” He winced slightly. “I
mean—not that ugly matters, but… structure does.”
He glanced up sheepishly.
“And if we do wind, I could sketch a small turbine or something.
I’ve watched a bunch of videos about how different blade shapes
affect efficiency.”
He paused.
“I don’t mind meeting at the library for research,” he added.
“And um… we could probably build at my place if you want? My
parents don’t mind people coming over as long as we clean up.”
A beat.
“I mean, if that works for you guys.”
He offered a tentative smile.
“I just don’t want this to be awkward. I think we could actually
make something cool.”
-+
The talk drifted, as conversations in moving cars always did,
toward softer edges—parents, absences, the quiet things people
carried without realizing they’d unpacked them. Toni let it
settle, hands easy on the wheel, eyes half on the road and half
on the people sharing the space with him.
“Good call, Ace,” he said lightly, glancing at the rearview
mirror. “Asthma’s not something you flirt with.” Then his
attention tipped forward, grin gentling when it landed on
Emmett. “And don’t worry — if your dad’s upset, I’ll take full
responsibility for the kidnapping.” He made a show of thinking
it over. “I’ll even look apologetic. I’m excellent at that.”
When the question turned to him, Toni hummed, thoughtful. The
highway stretched ahead like a ribbon, and he followed it with a
dreamy sort of focus. “I like making things,” he said. “Paint,
charcoal, sculptures when I feel ambitious. Sometimes music —
badly, but with conviction.” A laugh slipped out, warm and
unbothered. “I chase moments that feel… luminous. Like they’ll
mean something later, even if I don’t know why yet.”
He glanced between them, something curious sparking behind his
eyes. “Industrial art sounds fascinating, Ace. And Emmett —
anyone who appreciates Bach understands balance. That’s rare.”
His smile turned softer, interested, like he was already
cataloging them in the mental gallery he kept of beautiful,
fleeting things.
“And when I’m not doing that,” he added airily, “I have a habit
of wandering into trouble. Nothing tragic. Just… cinematic.” He
tapped the accelerator just a touch, the car responding
smoothly. “It’s more fun when you don’t know how the scene ends
yet.”
---
Riko didn’t look up right away. He didn’t need to. The project
sheet sat between them like a truce, and he clung to it gladly.
“Wind works,” he said after a moment, pen already moving. His
voice stayed clipped, economical. “Consistent variables. Less
guesswork.” He paused, then added, quieter, “I’m decent with the
physics side. Torque, resistance. Efficiency curves.”
As he spoke, the tight coil in his chest loosened just enough to
breathe. Numbers and structure steadied him in ways people
rarely did. He filled the page with diagrams — blades, angles,
notes in the margins — his focus sharpening into something
almost peaceful.
“We’ll need open space for testing,” he said, not quite meeting
their eyes but no longer avoiding them either. “Height matters.
Wind shear too.”
The bell rang, loud and jarring, and the moment snapped apart.
Riko capped his pen and finally glanced up, expression carefully
neutral again. “We can figure the rest out later,” he said,
already gathering his things. But there was less tension in his
shoulders now — less fight in the silence he carried with him as
he stood.
For the first time, the project didn’t feel like a burden.
It felt manageable.
—-
Emmett went a little sullen when Graham’s smile faded like that.
The thought lingered—a gentle reminder to hug his dad later, no
matter how angry he got—and it settled briefly in his mind
before he pushed on.
Then the question cut through, sharp and sudden, and Toni
answered first. Music and messy art—art that showed rather than
told.
Emmett’s attention caught immediately, the way it always did
when something sparked his curiosity.
He blushed deeper at the way Toni mentioned his appreciation for
Bach, for balance and structure—the kind that hid complexity
beneath the surface.
His heart skipped at the brief rev of the car, quick and
playful, just enough to make the point.
“I read. I write,” Emmett said, confident, like it was the
simplest answer in the world. “Mostly fantasy.”
He smiled a little wider as he went on. “My mom was a fantasy
writer—she’s got a few books out. When I was a kid, she used to
read to me all the time. Her stories, other people’s stories.
That’s how I fell in love with books in the first place.”
There was no hesitation now. “I want to do that too. Write
worlds, put them out there. Be like her.”
He added, almost amused, “Which is probably why my math didn’t
get finished on time.”
——-
Aria had been listening more than speaking, filing away what
Huntor offered—design, schematics, the way he thought in shapes
and structure.
“So,” she said at last, thoughtful, “solar or wind.”
Her eyes flicked to Riko as his pen started moving, clipped
certainty in his voice cutting through the uncertainty. Physics.
Torque. Efficiency. She watched the tension ease from his
shoulders as the diagrams took shape.
“Wind makes sense,” she said, nodding once. “If you’ve got the
numbers covered, and Huntor handles the design, that’s a solid
split.”
At the mention of Huntor’s house, her attention shifted to him.
She weighed it, then let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized
she was holding.
“That works for me,” she added. “Library for research, your
place for building. We’ll just need to plan testing space.”
The bell rang—sharp and unavoidable—cutting through the fragile
calm they’d built. Chairs scraped back, voices rose, and the
classroom snapped back into motion.
Aria gathered her things, glancing between the two of them. “We
can talk more later—after practice. Riko, see you at lunch,” she
said, a faint warmth rising to her cheeks.
—
Graham listened, eyes drifting between the road and the blur of
scenery outside, catching the way Toni spoke like every word was
part of some bigger story and how Emmett lit up when he talked
about books.
For a second, he almost felt out of place.
Almost.
When Toni called industrial art fascinating, Graham let out a
quiet snort.
“Yeah… about that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It sounds cooler than it is.”
He shifted in his seat, then finally shrugged.
“Industrial art is just my polite way of saying graffiti.”
He waited for a reaction.
“Like—real stuff,” he added quickly. “Not just tagging names.
Murals, weird shapes, surreal things. Stuff that actually means
something.”
His gaze flicked out the window again.
“Cops don’t really appreciate the artistic vision though.”
A faint grin returned.
His stomach growled quietly — loud enough that even he heard it.
“Dang,” he muttered.
He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out the granola bar
he’d snagged earlier, peeling it open.
“Guess this is breakfast.”
He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“Most days I miss breakfast ’cause I sleep in,” he admitted
casually. “Group home mornings aren’t exactly calm and cozy.”
Another bite.
“But hey, food is food.”
He glanced between them again.
“Your mom being a fantasy writer is actually sick, Emmett,”
Graham said honestly. “That explains why you talk like a main
character sometimes.”
A smirk.
“And Toni — you give rich artist energy. Like you wake up and
accidentally create masterpieces.”
He leaned back.
“Honestly though? Writing worlds, making art, chasing ‘luminous
moments’…”
He shrugged.
“Sounds better than just surviving.”
A pause.
“Maybe this road trip’s already one of those moments.”
----
Huntor nodded quickly, relief still sitting warm in his chest.
“Yeah — that works,” he said, already slipping his notebook back
into his bag. “Library after school, then my place to build.”
He hesitated, then added, eager to help.
“I’ll look around for somewhere open we can test it too. There’s
a park near my house with a big hill and lots of wind — it might
be perfect.”
A small smile.
“I’ll text you guys once I check it out.”
The rest of Huntor’s classes blurred together.
English. History. Social studies.
He answered when called on, doodled when he wasn’t, and kept
counting the minutes until lunch.
By the time he finally slid into his usual seat in the
cafeteria, the noise washed over him in waves — laughter, trays
clattering, music leaking from earbuds.
He pulled out his sketchbook immediately.
Pencil moved fast, confident now — shaping curved turbine
blades, clean lines of a frame, little notes about angles and
balance scribbled along the sides. Somewhere along the page, his
design morphed into something almost fashionable — sleek, sharp,
something that looked like it belonged in a magazine more than a
science project.
He was so focused he didn’t notice the shadow fall over his
table.
“Heyyy Huntor.”
He looked up to find a group of popular kids standing there —
polished, loud, smiling in that way that never quite reached
their eyes.
“Whatcha drawing today?” one of them asked, leaning in too
close.
Another snorted softly. “Let me guess. Clothes again?”
Huntor flushed.
“Just— uh— a project,” he said quickly, trying to angle the page
away.
“Ooooh, a project,” one teased. “You gonna be famous someday,
pretty boy?”
The nickname made his stomach twist.
But he forced a small laugh.
“Maybe,” he said lightly. “You never know.”
They exchanged looks, amused.
“Well, don’t forget us when you’re rich,” one of them said with
a smirk, tapping his sketchbook before walking away.
Huntor watched them go, smile still fixed in place.
It was just joking.
They always joked.
Still… the warmth he’d felt earlier faded a little.
He looked back down at his drawing, fingers tightening around
the pencil.
And kept sketching anyway.
Huntor had just gotten back into the rhythm of sketching when a
familiar burst of perfume and energy swept in beside him.
“Huntor!”
He flinched slightly, looking up.
One of the cheerleaders stood there — tall, perfectly styled,
ponytail swinging as she leaned her hip against the edge of the
table like it belonged to her. A couple of her friends hovered a
few steps behind, whispering.
“Hey,” he said softly, sitting up straighter.
She smiled wide — bright, practiced, but not unkind.
“So listen,” she began, lowering her voice like they were
sharing a secret. “I have this party this weekend. And maybe a
date.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically.
“I cannot decide what to wear.”
Huntor blinked.
“Oh. Um…”
She pulled her phone out instantly, flipping through pictures of
outfits — dresses, tops, heels, all different styles.
“You’re really good at this stuff,” she said sweetly. “Like,
everyone says so. Could you maybe help me pick something? Or
even tell me what would look best on me?”
His face warmed.
“I— yeah, I guess I could,” he said shyly.
“Yesss. I knew you would.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice again.
“And I’ll totally make it worth your while,” she added
playfully. “We can go shopping together sometime — my treat. Or
I can invite you to the next party we have.”
One of her friends giggled.
Huntor swallowed, nerves fluttering in his chest.
“Okay,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”
“Perfect!” she chirped, adding her number to his contracts
before handing the phone back to him. “Text me your thoughts
later, fashion genius.”
She winked before bouncing back to her friends.
As they walked away, Huntor stared at the phone in his hands for
a moment.
Part of him felt excited.
Part of him wondered if they really liked him… or just liked
what he could do for them.
Still—
He smiled.
Someone noticed.
And right now, that felt good enough.
#Post#: 1187--------------------------------------------------
Re: Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:35 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Emmett’s voice lit something in Toni — a tiny, delighted spark
that made the world seem more interesting for a second. He
leaned forward as if gravity had a soft spot for storytelling,
eyes bright.
“You have to read me that when it’s done,” Toni said, impossibly
earnest. “I’m terrible at sitting down to read, but I will sit
and listen to you read. Promise.” He tapped the side of his nose
like he was sealing a vow. “There’s a particular way someone
sounds when they love their own story — I collect those sounds.”
When Graham joked about graffiti, Toni’s grin widened. “Art at
the skirts of the law — poetic.” He sounded genuinely intrigued,
mouth quirking into that easy, practiced smile. “Ace, you’ll
have to give me a grand alley-gallery tour sometime. We’ll wear
berets and dramatic expressions. Pure culture.”
His eyes flicked to the rumbling stomach and he clapped once,
delighted. “Breakfast expedition, then. Real food, not cafeteria
regret.” He drummed his fingers on the wheel in a quick rhythm,
already composing routes in his head. “We’ll take a detour. A
little morning narrative. Think of it as character development
with coffee.”
Toni’s laugh was light, infectious; the car felt less like a
vehicle and more like the opening page of whatever small story
they were writing together.
The bell bled into the next blur of classes and Riko moved
through them like a shadow — present enough to avoid trouble,
distant enough to keep his edges sharp. He kept one eye on the
room and one on time; the other world — the one that never
promised more than what he could earn — hummed quietly behind
his ribs.
At lunch he noticed Huntor sitting alone. It should have meant
nothing. It shouldn’t have nudged him. Still, Riko found himself
walking a careful circle nearby, then easing into a seat at the
next table over. He set his bag down with a muted thud and
opened his books, deliberate and practical. Pages, diagrams, a
list of physics terms — things that steadied him.
He watched Huntor in the periphery, not looking like he was
watching. It was easier that way. He’d offer help if asked, not
charity. If Huntor wanted company, Riko would provide it without
fanfare. If not—he’d keep his head down and his own work
finished. Either way, it felt… tolerable. Less like a trap and
more like choice.
Emmett glanced at Graham, his gaze soft but steady. He
understood the risks of art in the urban world, where some saw
it as nothing more than vandalism or property destruction. To
Emmett, though, it was a bold shout to the world, a declaration
of expression that couldn’t be ignored.
“They just don’t appreciate art the way they should,” Emmett
said, adjusting his glasses, a hint of frustration in his tone.
“Most of these buildings are abandoned anyway— never understood
why they’d limit something like that when it’s not hurting
anyone.” He shifted his bag, reaching for his wallet, sliding it
into his pocket. Even though Toni was wealthy, Emmett still felt
compelled to pay his share, to contribute.
A warm feeling spread through his chest, unexpected but genuine.
Someone wanted him to read? It made him smile, a soft, sincere
expression. “I’d be happy to,” he said, his voice light. “Mom
used to make a few audiobooks herself. She always wanted to make
sure everyone could enjoy the story, even if it was just through
sound.”
His stomach rumbled then, reminding him that the journey was
taking longer than he’d expected. Glancing around, he asked,
“How much longer until we get there?”
————-
Aria made her way into the lunchroom, careful to keep her
distance from everyone else. She had always hated this time of
day—too crowded, too loud.
When she finally reached a seat by Riko, her gaze flicked across
the table and landed on Cassie, draped over Huntor, talking to
him like he was a best friend.
Aria set her pack down nearby just as the cheerleader’s voice
drifted toward them. Her head turned slightly, attention snagged
despite herself. She knew that girl well enough.
Aria knew her stepsister’s routine by heart. Smiles crafted to
disarm. Promises of parties, of excitement, of being chosen.
Bait, every time. And when it was over, there were always pieces
left behind—quiet, broken things no one bothered to look at too
closely.
A breath slipped from Aria’s lips—thin, tired, edged with
something close to disgust.
Cassie thrived on attention. On being admired. Their mother made
sure of that, doting on her like a second chance, a living
apology for everything Aria had failed to become.
Cheerleader.
Popular.
Bright.
The girl who did all the things their mother had once dreamed
Aria would do—only better, only louder.
They shared a house, but that was where it ended. Aria had
learned long ago that there was no room for her in that version
of a family.
Huntor seemed eager—the perfect next target for her stepsister.
Something in Aria snapped, just enough. Her voice was low,
deliberate, but carried through the murmur of the lunchroom.
“Back off,” she said.
Cassie turned, surprise flickering across her face.
“What?” she asked, too sharp.
“Stop it—using people,” Aria said calmly.
Cassie made a face and glanced at Huntor, who now looked
nervous.
“What? Is he your boyfriend… or friend?”
Aria’s jaw tightened. Why was she doing this?
“Just so you know, Huntor,” Aria said quietly— sitting by Riko,
her eyes locked on him, “not every girl leaves things behind
like… some do. Broken hearts, empty promises. Be careful who you
trust.”
Cassie’s smile faltered for the briefest moment. “Funny coming
from someone who always seems to walk away unscathed… while
others don’t."
Aria paled instantly, her hand curling around the fork just a
bit tightly. She felt a small wave of nausea to force it down.
Cassie walked a way with the toss of her hair striding away.
—-
Graham snorted softly at Toni’s dramatic alley-gallery idea,
shaking his head with a grin.
“Berets might be pushin’ it,” he said, “but I’ll totally give
you the underground art tour someday. Just don’t scream when you
see a giant eyeball mural staring into your soul.”
He leaned back comfortably, stretching his long legs.
“And don’t worry about me — I’m good,” Graham added when food
came up. “I’m lookin’ forward to Greek for lunch.”
A smirk tugged at his lips.
“I’ll just stuff myself with yummy Greek food. I’m kinda used to
eating one big meal a day anyway.”
It was casual.
Like it didn’t mean much.
(It did.)
Then his attention shifted to Emmett, curiosity sparking.
“So, writer boy,” Graham said lightly, not unkind. “What’s your
story about?”
He tilted his head.
“You do dragons? Magic? Kingdoms? Post-apocalyptic stuff? Or
like… chosen one saves the world type deal?”
A grin.
“‘Cause fantasy’s got range. I need details.”
He drummed his fingers to the rhythm of the music still playing.
“And what do you actually like writing most? Big epic adventures
or quieter emotional stuff?”
His eyes brightened.
“I swear if you say some wizard school thing, I’m in.”
When he heard Emmett's stomach rumble, he dug out the bag of
Doritos he'd snagged earlier. "Here you can have these to tide
you over,"
---+
Huntor sat frozen for a second, heart thudding loudly in his
ears.
He hadn’t expected that.
Not Aria stepping in.
Not the sharp edge beneath her calm voice.
And definitely not the look that flashed between the two girls —
something far deeper than simple annoyance.
There was history there.
Pain.
The kind you didn’t air out in a cafeteria.
Cassie’s last jab landed harder than anything else, and Huntor
saw the way Aria’s face drained of color, the way her hand
tightened around her fork.
Something twisted in his chest.
He thought back to all the times Cassie had asked for “little
favors.”
Outfit advice.
Homework help.
Rides.
And how she’d always smiled — then drifted away like he hadn’t
mattered once she got what she wanted.
He swallowed.
Yeah.
He wasn’t doing that again.
Huntor pushed his chair back softly but firmly.
“Cassie,” he said, voice steady even though his hands shook just
a little, “find someone else to be your fashion consultant.”
She turned, brows lifting in surprise.
“I’m kinda busy,” he added quietly. “I don’t really have time
for favors anymore.”
For a moment, she looked like she might argue.
Then she scoffed lightly and turned away.
“Whatever.”
Huntor watched her go, heart still racing.
Then he gathered his sketchbook and lunch, took a breath, and
walked over to where Aria and Riko were sitting.
“Um—hey,” he said softly, setting his things down. “Is it okay
if I sit with you guys?”
He glanced at Aria, sincere.
“Thanks… for that.”
And to Riko, a small, awkward nod.
“Hope this is cool...if not just let me know and I can move,”
For the first time that day, Huntor felt like he’d chosen the
right side of something.
Not the popular one.
The real one.
—-
Toni laughed, the sound bright as the sun hitting the
windshield. “Darling, the only screaming I’ll do is the
delighted kind,” he teased, glancing back at Graham in the
mirror. The road blurred into ribbons as he sped up—not reckless
so much as impatient for the next scene. “Forty minutes,” he
said at first, then, with an impish grin and a tap on the gas,
“we’ll be there sooner. I drive like I paint: bold strokes.”
The restaurant appeared like something out of a glossy travel
spread—white stucco, blue awnings, and a mosaic tile entrance
that caught the sun. Lanterns swung gently from wrought-iron
brackets and the faint scent of lemon oil and oregano teased the
air before the door opened. Toni killed the engine, slid out,
and practically flew around the car. He opened both doors like a
practiced host, all bright charm and theatrical courtesy.
Inside, the space felt intimate despite its size: warm amber
light, marble-topped tables, velvet banquettes, and servers in
crisp shirts who moved with exact, quiet efficiency. Toni led
them past a few open tables to a tucked-away booth—plush,
semi-private, the kind of corner that invited conspiratorial
laughter.
He glanced over the menu for half a heartbeat and then set it
down with the air of someone who already knew the house special.
“Order whatever your heart fancies,” he said, voice soft and
indulgent. “Trust me—spanakopita that’ll make you write
sonnets.” He flagged a server with the practiced wave of someone
who spent evenings at places like this as if attendance were a
hobby.
Then, just to make the moment feel like a scene he’d invented
for his own pleasure, he slid into the seat opposite Emmett and
Graham with a wide, satisfied grin. “To food that isn’t school
pizza,” he declared, raising an imaginary glass.
---
Riko watched Aria stand up to Cassie with something like
reverence—tight in his chest and bright at the edges. He hadn’t
realized the crush could deepen, but seeing her call the girl
out had shifted something small and dangerous inside him. He
forced himself to look back down at his homework, pen moving
faster than his thoughts, trying not to be obvious.
When Huntor asked to join them at lunch, Riko’s initial reflex
was to retreat. But the word “sit” landed differently when it
came from Huntor—more earnest than entitled. Riko’s shoulders
eased a fraction.
“I don’t care,” he said, voice low and blunt, the sentence doing
the work of politeness for him. “Do whatever.” He kept his eyes
on the page, but the corner of his mouth tilted—just enough
that, if someone was looking, they’d see he meant it. He wasn’t
offering warmth; he wasn’t admitting anything. He was simply
making space.
Then he bent back over his notes, pen scraping paper, but the
edges of the cafeteria felt less like a trap and more like
something he might be willing to test.
—-
Emmett listened as Graham explained about sticking to just one
meal, his mouth briefly forming a thoughtful little frown, as if
he were mentally footnoting the information for later. When the
chips were offered, he hesitated, then shook his head politely.
“Oh—no, I’ll wait for lunch. Thanks, though,” he said, already
half-distracted.
Almost immediately, his thoughts veered right back onto
familiar, well-loved terrain.
“So, okay—imagine a world built entirely around dragon riders,”
Emmett launched in, enthusiasm lighting his face like someone
had just cracked open his favorite hardcover. “They’re in this
long, grinding war with the fallen elven kingdom of
**Khar’eth**—which, by the way, used to be this incredible
arcane civilization before everything went wrong.” He gestured
vaguely as if mapping it out in the air. “The whole conflict
centers on a dungeon core that sits *exactly* on the border
between their lands and elven territory, so both sides claim it,
and it’s not just a power source, it’s symbolic—like a narrative
pressure point.”
He barely paused to breathe.
“My main character’s an up-and-coming dragon rider knight—not
famous yet, still proving himself—and he gets assigned to escort
the princess for peace negotiations. Which sounds diplomatic,
right? Except it’s basically a suicide mission because nobody
actually wants peace.” His voice lowered conspiratorially.
“There *is* romance,” he added quickly, “but it’s more
slow-burn, political tension kind of romance. Mostly action.
Explosions. Aerial combat. Emotional trauma.”
The commentary continued for the entire ride, Emmett bouncing
from lore to character arcs to speculative magic systems,
occasionally stopping only to correct himself or add, “Oh! And
another thing—”
By the time they reached the Greek restaurant, he was still
mid-sentence.
He flushed when Toni reached the door before he could even touch
it, stumbling over his words for half a second. He wasn’t used
to gestures like that—still recalibrating, really.
He followed the two of them inside, eyes roaming the restaurant
with quiet fascination, taking in the layout like he was
cataloging it for later reference. When the teen told him to
order whatever he wanted, Emmett nodded earnestly—then
immediately searched for the cheapest item that still looked
respectable and appetizing.
When the food arrived, he lifted an imaginary glass, smiling a
little too brightly.
“To new adventures?” he said, cheeks warming.
———
Aria didn’t answer right away.
Her eyes stayed on the place where Cassie had vanished, the
cafeteria noise slowly rushing back in around her. She set the
fork down carefully, like she didn’t quite trust her hands with
it. Her appetite was gone—if it had ever been there at all.
“…Yeah,” she said at last, looking up at Huntor. “You can sit.”
She nudged her tray an inch to the side, more out of habit than
intent, and hooked one finger around the edge of her napkin,
folding and unfolding it while she spoke.
“I wasn’t trying to start something,” she added, quieter. “I
just— I’ve seen how that ends.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Riko. The way he hadn’t made a big
deal out of it. The way he’d made space without looking at her.
It grounded her.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said to Huntor, steady but
serious. “You don’t owe people access to you. Favors, attention…
none of it.”
The words hung there for a moment.
Then, as if realizing the silence might get too heavy, Aria
shifted in her seat and poked at her food with the fork, nudging
peas into uneven little lines she didn’t bother to fix.
“So,” she said, tone deliberately casual, eyes dropping to the
tray,
“what do you guys do when you’re not stuck here?”
She glanced up between them, just briefly.
“Like—free time. Hobbies. Anything that doesn’t involve… this
place.”
Her fork tapped once against the plastic tray as she waited, not
quite relaxed—but present.
——-
Graham had already turned the music down the second Emmett
launched into story mode.
Not because he was told to.
Because he wanted to hear.
He leaned forward between the seats, elbow resting on the
headrest, chips crinkling softly in his hand as he listened with
wide-eyed interest, chewing thoughtfully while Emmett mapped out
wars, dungeon cores, dragon riders, and doomed diplomacy.
“Dang,” Graham muttered around a bite.
“That actually sounds kinda epic.”
He nodded along as if picturing it all.
“You’re gonna have to tell us way more about that,” he added.
“Like… all of it.”
Another chip disappeared.
“I’d totally read that.”
When Toni suddenly hopped out and opened both doors like some
movie star chauffeur, Graham froze for a second.
Then barked a laugh.
“Well damn,” he said, sliding out slowly. “Look at you bein’ all
gentlemanly.”
He gave Toni a playful once-over.
“I could get used to that kinda treatment,” he teased.
“Especially from a good-lookin’ dude like you.”
A wink.
Inside the restaurant, Graham’s eyes widened just a little.
“Okay,” he admitted quietly. “This place is fancy as hell.”
He slid into the booth, settling back comfortably, taking it all
in.
“Not gonna lie… I feel underdressed and underqualified to be
here.”
When Toni told them to order whatever they wanted, Graham let
out a low laugh.
“Careful, man,” he said. “You shouldn’t say that to someone who
will absolutely eat everything in sight.”
He patted his stomach.
“I came hungry.”
Despite his warning, Graham settled on an appetizer and lamb
gyros for his entree.
When they raised imaginary glasses, Graham shook his head with a
grin.
“Hey, school pizza isn’t the worst thing in the world,” he said.
“But yeah — I get the sentiment.”
He lifted his own invisible glass higher.
“To adventure,” he added.
“Good food…”
A glance between Toni and Emmett, smile softening.
“And new friends.”
--
Huntor slid into the seat slowly, careful not to bump the table,
like the moment might shatter if he moved too fast.
For a few seconds, none of them spoke.
The cafeteria hummed around them. Trays scraped, voices
overlapped, someone laughed too loud. It felt like the whole
room existed everywhere except right here.
Huntor stared at the edge of his sketchbook, fingers resting
lightly on the cover.
Okay.
Awkward silence, until Aria asked about their hobbies.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the lunch his mom had
packed — sandwich in foil, chips, apple — setting it down
neatly.
“Um…” he started, then stopped, considering what to say.
“Well… for hobbies,” he said softly, eyes still lowered, “I like
drawing a lot. Mostly clothes and designs, but… other stuff
too.”
He risked a quick glance up.
“And photography,” he added. “I take pictures when I can. Like—
of buildings, people, sunsets. Anything that looks cool.”
A small shrug.
“It helps me relax.”
Then, like the thought had been waiting for courage to appear,
he continued,
“And since we said the library after school… when does your
basketball practice usually end, Aria?”
He fidgeted with the edge of the foil.
“I could go early and try to reserve one of those private study
rooms. They fill up fast, but if I’m there right after my last
class, I might get one.”
His voice warmed just a little with hope.
“I don’t mind waiting. I can sketch while I’m there.”
Another pause.
“I just… wanna make this project work.”
-fin
#Post#: 1188--------------------------------------------------
Re: Horizon hs
By: Inkglitched Date: February 10, 2026, 12:35 pm
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In save mode at the moment but can sort these out later to two
separate threads.
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