#luckithewingman

— part four: same time tomorrow

intro • part 1 • part 2 • part 3 • part 5 • part 6

a/n: The courtyard bench is now a daily ritual. Nova is one second away from committing a felony. Brianna is big scary. And im actually using uppercase for once.

WC: 1.7k

The Monday after the McFlurry Incident, you’re at your locker fighting with a jammed zipper when a low voice says,

“Morning, shorty.”

Hollis is leaning against the next locker over, hands in his pockets, looking like he’s been waiting.

You almost drop your chem book.

“Morning,” you manage.

He nods once, knocks on your locker like it’s a secret handshake, and walks off.

That’s it. Eight seconds of interaction and your entire day is ruined (in the best way).

By Wednesday you’re texting like normal humans.

It starts small.

hollis: your dog still hate me?

you: dont think he ever did

he’s obsessed

hollis: bet.

tell him i’m coming for that #1 spot

You smile at your phone so hard Nova notices from across the cafeteria and fake-gags.

Thursday he finds you again between classes.

This time he falls into step beside you.

“You still freaking out about that history test?”

You nod. “I’m gonna bomb it.”

He shrugs. “You’re smart. You’ll be fine.”

You blink at him. He called you smart. Out loud. In public.

You walk the rest of the way to class in stunned silence while he scrolls TikTok and pretends he didn’t just obliterate your brain cells.

Friday is when everything tilts.

You’re hiding in the upstairs bathroom again (Nova’s been hating on Hollis all week, Brianna’s been throwing shade in the form of fake-sweet smiles, and you just want five minutes of peace.

Door swings open.

Brianna and her glitter posse walk in.

She spots you immediately.

“Oh my god, hiii!”

You die inside.

She posts up at the mirror, reapplying gloss like a weapon.

“So random, but have you seen Hollis lately? He’s acting super weird with me. Won’t answer texts for hours, barely looks at me in the halls…” She turns, tilts her head. “You guys talk, right?”

Your throat closes. “Not really. Just a little texting. And the party. And the McDonald’s. And the—

“Not really,” you lie.

She smiles like she doesn’t believe you. “Okayy, just checking! If he says anything about me will you let me know? We’re kinda trying to fix things.”

You nod like a traitor.

She leaves. You grip the sink and text him before your brain can stop you.

you: brianna just ambushed me in the bathroom asked me to tell her if u say anything about her

i panicked and said okay

i’m sorry

He answers in six seconds.

hollis: don’t apologize

i’ve told her it’s over like five times she’s just fishing u

didn’t do shit wrong

you: still feel gross

hollis: u couldn’t be gross if u tried

go eat shorty

You stare at the text until the lunch bell rings.

After school you’re in the lobby wrestling Lucki into his harness when your phone buzzes.

hollis: u home?

you: just walked in the building

gonna walk lucki rn

hollis: look out the courtyard window

You do.

He’s sitting on the bench under the big tree, hood up, spinning a single dog treat between his fingers like he’s nervous.

Lucki spots him first and nearly takes your arm off dragging you outside.

Hollis stands when you get close, immediately crouches to greet Lucki like they’re long-lost brothers.

“Hey, big man.”

Lucki flips onto his back for belly rubs. Traitor.

Hollis looks up at you, a little sheepish.

“I was gonna ask if… maybe I could walk with you guys? Just one lap. If that’s weird I can—”

“Yes,” you blurt. Then quieter: “I mean yeah. That’s fine.”

He smiles. Actually smiles. Not the smirk. A real one.

You hand him the leash like it’s a grenade.

He takes it gently.

You walk.

Three laps around the courtyard while Lucki sniffs every leaf and Hollis asks about your day like he actually cares about the answer.

When you tell him about Brianna he just sighs.

“She does that. Don’t let her in your head, okay?”

You nod.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “You don’t owe her anything. Or me.”

The sun is setting, everything orange and pink. Lucki flops down in the grass dramatically.

Hollis sits on the bench, pats the spot beside him.

You sit. Close enough your knees almost touch.

He hands the leash back.

“This cool?” he asks. “Me showing up like this?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah. Lucki likes you better anyway.”

He laughs quietly laughs. “He has taste.”

You sit there until the courtyard lights come on and Lucki starts snoring between you.

Eventually you stand.

“I should head up. Mom’s working late and i still got to do some things around the house.”

He nods, stands too.

“Text me when you’re inside?”

You smile. “You don’t have to keep saying that.”

He shrugs. “I know.”

You’re halfway to the door when he calls,

“Hey.”

You turn.

He’s still by the bench, hands in pockets, looking almost shy.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Your heart files for immediate evacuation.

“Yeah,” you say. “Same time tomorrow.”

You ride the elevator up smiling like an idiot.

Your phone buzzes before you even unlock the door.

hollis: night shorty

you: night hollis ♡

It’s been exactly four days since the courtyard turned into your new religion.

Every afternoon at 4:17 p.m. on the dot, you step out of the lobby with Lucki and there he is: Hollis leaning against the brick wall by the courtyard entrance, hood up, one foot kicked back, spinning Lucki’s spare leash around his finger like he’s trying to look chill and failing. He always straightens the second he sees you, like he wasn’t just nervously counting cracks in the pavement.

Lucki launches. You get dragged. Hollis crouches, lets ninety pounds of pure muscle and love tackle him to the grass, and laughs that soft, real laugh that you only ever hear out here.

You still don’t talk about anything deep. Just school, new music he’s working on, the way Lucki tried to fight a pigeon yesterday and lost. Safe things. Easy things.

But you notice everything.

How his laugh is quieter with you, almost shy at the edges. How his eyes crinkle at the corners when you snort at one of his dry-ass jokes. How he actually listens when you ramble about the book you’re reading for AP Lit, nodding like he gives a shit about Sylvia Plath instead of just waiting for his turn to talk.

It feels like friendship is growing in real time, slow and green and terrifyingly fragile, and it’s the best thing that’s happened to you in months.

After a week the courtyard routine leaks into school.

He starts finding you at lunch when Nova’s late (which is every day now, because she’s avoiding the table like it’s radioactive).

He just shows up with his tray, slides into the seat across from you without asking, and steals one of your baby carrots.

“History test still trying to kill you?”

You roll your eyes. “It succeeded. I’m legally dead.”

He grins, mouth full. “Told you you’re smart.”

You hide your face in your hoodie sleeve so he doesn’t see how red you go.

You talk. You actually talk. About stupid stuff, about music, about how the cafeteria mac and cheese tastes like depression and plastic. You laugh at his jokes. He laughs at yours. It’s so normal it’s surreal.

Nova hates it.

She hates walking up to the table and seeing you two leaned in, shoulders almost touching, dying over some dumb TikTok he’s showing you.

She says she’s not mad at you. She says it three separate times, very clearly, very loudly, like if she repeats it enough it’ll become true.

You know it’s bullshit. She’s texting shorter, hugging you less, looking at you like you’re turning into a stranger.

Brianna has stopped pretending to be nice.

She gives you these long, slow once-overs in the hallway now, lip gloss smile gone, eyes flat and cold. You smile back every single one because your mom raised you polite and terrified, then speed-walk away with your heart in your throat.

Friday lunch it happens.

You’re mid-sentence, telling Hollis about the time Lucki ate an entire birthday cake off the kitchen counter, actually crying laughing, when Brianna appears like a Victoria’s Secret demon.

“Babe,” she says, hand curling around his forearm, acrylics digging in just enough to make a point. “Come sit with us. Nate’s asking for you.”

Hollis’s face goes carefully blank. “I’m good here.”

She tugs. “Come onnnn.”

He sighs through his nose, glances at you once, almost apologetic, then lets her pull him up. “Later, shorty,” he mutters.

Brianna doesn’t even look at you as they walk away.

You stare at your tray until the bell rings.

That night you’re rotting in bed, hoodie on inside out, Lucki sprawled across your legs like a heated blanket, half-watching some girl do a GRWM storytime about her situationship. Your brain is soup.

Your phone lights up.

hollis: yooo u asleep?

Your soul leaves your body for a second.

you: nope just rotting with lucki

hollis: cool lol was thinking u wanna come over tomorrow? i could finally show u the studio i won’t shut up about

You sit up so fast Lucki grumbles in protest.

He’s inviting you to his house. Not for a school project. Not because Brianna dragged him. Just… because he wants to.

Your hands are shaking. You stare at the message for two straight minutes like it’s written in another language.

hollis: u there shorty?

You scramble.

you: yesss that would be so cool can’t wait !!

You add the extra exclamation marks so you don’t sound like a robot. Then you immediately regret the exclamation marks because now you sound like a children’s birthday card.

He just sends back a single smirking emoji and then:

hollis: i’ll pick u up @ 3 lucki’s invited too obviously

You stare at your ceiling until 4 a.m. with Lucki snoring on your chest and music in your ears, trying to convince yourself youre gonna just be his friend from now on. no more crushing. no more overthinking.

(you know thats not true)

Tomorrow you’re going to his house.

Tomorrow he’s going to pick you up in that stupid matte-black Audi that smells like clove and leather and him.

Tomorrow you’re going to see the studio he’s been talking about for weeks.

Tomorrow Brianna is probably going to commit arson.