robin buckley wasn’t supposed to still be at school.
technically, she’d finished band practice an hour ago, but “finished” was a generous word. she’d stayed behind to run scales badly and loudly. then she’d lost track of time, as usual, and now the sky was sliding into that deep blue which meant she should probably get home before her parents assumed she’d been abducted by aliens.
she wheeled her bike across the pavement, humming to herself, when she noticed the camaro.
it was tucked into the far corner of the lot, half in shadow. the engine wasn’t running, she couldn’t hear any music playing and the headlights were off. but someone was inside.
she squinted and frowned.
okay, so she wasn’t exactly his friend. they’d spoken once. one time. but that one time had been… weirdly nice. weirdly human. weirdly not what she expected from the guy who walked around like he was allergic to sincerity.
and now he looked… wrong.
he was sitting perfectly still, hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. even from a distance, something looked… off. he wasn’t slouched in his usual ‘i own the world and also your lunch money’ posture. he was upright. too upright. like moving hurt.
she could leave. she could pretend she didn’t see him. she could mind her own business like a normal person.
but she wasn’t a normal person. she was robin buckley.
she parked her bike, took a breath that did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves, and walked toward the camaro.
she stopped beside the driver’s window.
billy jerked like he’d been shocked. his head snapped toward her, eyes sharp, expression instantly hardening into something defensive and annoyed.
he rolled the window down just enough to talk.
“what?” he snapped, the word sharp and venomous.
robin blinked. okay. so this was the version of billy everyone else got. the one with teeth.
“uh,” she said eloquently. “hi?”
he glared. “what do you want, buckley?”
“i was just… checking on you,” she said, trying not to sound like she was talking to a feral cat. “you look-”
he wasn’t. up close, she could see the faint cut on his cheek, dried at the edge like it had bled earlier. his face was bruised in a way that didn’t look like a school fight. and his knuckles (she noticed this immediately) were not bruised. not scraped. not swollen.
which meant he hadn’t been the one throwing punches.
she swallowed, keeping her face neutral.
he glared, but it didn’t have the same bite. more like he was tired of holding up the mask.
“i said i’m fine,” he muttered, softer this time.
robin shifted her weight, chewing her lip. she could walk away. she could. but she didn’t.
instead, she reached into her bag.
“i, uh… have these,” she said, pulling out her own small bottle of tylenol.
billy blinked at her like she’d just handed him a live grenade.
“why?” he asked, suspicion thick in his voice.
“because you look like you need them,” she said simply. “and because you gave me some a few weeks ago, remember? so…erm yeah…just returning the favour.”
he stared at the bottle. then at her. then back at the bottle.
for a moment, she thought he’d refuse out of sheer stubbornness.
but then his shoulders sagged - barely, but enough.
he reached out the window and took it.
“thanks,” he muttered, the word almost swallowed.
robin nodded. “you’re welcome.”
he twisted the cap open with careful fingers, like even that small motion hurt. she pretended not to notice. he pretended not to notice her pretending.
after a moment, he leaned back against the seat, eyes closing briefly as he swallowed the tablets.
robin hovered awkwardly beside the car as she put the bottle back in her bag, unsure if she should stay or go.
“you don’t have to do that,” he muttered.
billy blinked, thrown off. then his eyes narrowed again, suspicious.
“is this-” he gestured vaguely between them, wincing at the movement. “are you… into me or something?”
robin made a noise that could only be described as a dying accordion.
“what? no! absolutely not. zero percent. negative percent.”
“i mean,” she rushed on, “you’re objectively attractive, i guess, in the way that, like, a magazine cover is attractive, but i’m not… that’s not…i don’t-”
she stopped. breathed. tried again.
“i don’t like you like that,” she said firmly. “i was just trying to be friendly.”
billy blinked again, slower this time. “friendly?”
“yes,” she said. “you know, like as in friends…..people who talk sometimes. people who don’t let each other sit alone in parking lots when they look like they’ve been hit by a truck.”
he huffed a laugh, a real one, small and surprised.
he looked at her for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. then he sighed, leaning back carefully.
“fine,” he muttered. “you can… sit. if you want.”
robin blinked. “in the car?”
“yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes like she was being dramatic. “i’m not gonna bite.”
“you say that,” she said, rounding the car to open the door, “but your reputation suggests otherwise.”
he didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
she slid into the passenger seat, setting her bag at her feet. the interior smelled faintly like old leather and something sharp she couldn’t place. billy shifted slightly, trying not to wince, but she saw it anyway.
she fiddled with her bag so she wouldn’t stare at his face. he closed his eyes, breathing slowly. his right eye looked red and swollen and the bruise beneath it was blooming purple.
but she didn’t comment, and instead spoke, “sooooo! band was a disaster today!”
billy cracked an eye open. “yeah?”
“yeah,” she said, warming to the topic. “i swear my clarinet is possessed. like, full‑on demon mode. every time i try to play a high note, it screams at me.”
“maybe you’re just bad at it,” he said.
“wow,” she said. “thank you for your support.”
he shrugged, wincing again. “just saying.”
“well,” she said, “if you ever want to hear the worst rendition of ‘moonlight serenade’ in the history of music, i can provide.”
he didn’t reply, but his expression softened, just a little. enough that she could see the exhaustion beneath it. the hurt. the walls he kept up like armour.
they sat in silence for a while, the kind that wasn’t awkward. robin tapped her fingers on her knee. billy breathed slowly, like each inhale was measured.
finally, he said, “you really don’t… like me like that?”
“nope,” she said. “sorry to disappoint.”
“i’m not disappointed,” he said quickly. too quickly.
robin raised an eyebrow. “okay.”
he glared half‑heartedly. “i just…people don’t usually want to be friends with me.”
“well,” she said, “lucky for you, i’m not people.”
“you shouldn’t… get involved,” he said, voice low. “with me. it’s not… smart.”
robin leaned her hip against the car door. “good thing i’m not known for my smart decisions.”
he huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. or a pained breath. hard to tell.
robin glanced at him, at the bruises and the cut, the way he held himself afraid.
after a while, billy cleared his throat. “you should get home.”
“yeah,” she said softly. “you gonna be okay?”
he hesitated. then, “yeah. thanks… buckley.”
she smiled. “see you around, hargrove.”
robin climbed out of the camaro, the door clicking shut behind her. the air felt cooler now, the sky now black and the parking lot completely empty.
she grabbed her bike from where she’d propped it against the curb.
behind her, billy cleared his throat.
“hey,” he said, voice rough but not sharp this time.
she turned. he was watching her through the open window, eyes a little less guarded now.
“you need a lift?” he asked. it came out gruff, like the words were unfamiliar in his mouth. “i can… i mean, i can drive you. it’s dark.”
robin blinked, surprised. billy hargrove offering someone a ride home felt like one of the signs of the apocalypse.
but she smiled, soft and small. “that’s nice of you. but i’m good.”
he frowned slightly, like he wasn’t sure if she was lying to spare him.
she gestured to her bike. “i live right around the corner. literally a two‑minute ride. if i got in your car, it’d take longer to buckle the seatbelt.”
billy huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “fine. suit yourself.”
“i usually do,” she said, grinning.
he rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. “yeah. i’m getting that.”
she stepped back, hands on her handlebars. “you gonna be okay getting home?”
he hesitated, just a flicker, then nodded. “yeah. i’ll manage.”
billy watched her for another moment, something unreadable in his expression. then he nodded once, like they’d made some kind of silent agreement neither of them had the words for.
“see you around, buckley,” he said.
“see you around, hargrove.”
she swung her leg over her bike and pushed off, wheels humming softly against the pavement. she didn’t look back until she reached the edge of the lot.
when she did, she lifted a hand in a small wave.
he didn’t wave back, but he didn’t look away either.
robin pedaled into the quiet evening, her chest warm in a way she didn’t fully understand. she’d only talked to him twice. twice. and yet something about him tugged at her. not in the romantic way he’d assumed, but in the way you recognised another person carrying something heavy and thought, maybe i can help lighten it, even just a little.
maybe, she thought, this was how friendships started.
