By the time my class ends in the afternoon, the sun's already starting its slow slide westward. I pack up my sketchpad, tablet, and charger like I'm moving out of the country. No new assignments today, thank God. The ones I already have are stacking high enough to crush me.
I walk out of the studio into that strange hour where everything feels soft, even the sound of footsteps on pavement. My phone buzzes just as I'm crossing the courtyard.
Felix.
I stop walking.
I hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen like it's some kind of emotional detonator. Then I sigh, swipe, and press it to my ear.
"Yo, Stray Cat," his voice is warm, familiar—too familiar. "Still sick?"
"No," I reply, neutral.
"Wanna go out today?"
I blink. Just like that? I still remember that picture he sent me. Him. That girl. Her hand on his arm. Her shoulder touching his. Something sour rises up in my chest. I don't even know why I care. It's not like we're anything.
