The mission appeared halfway through the second period.
Blake had just begun to believe the system might allow him a quiet morning.
Until the translucent interface unfolded in the corner of his vision.
[ New Mission Assigned. ]
"Ugh…" He stared at it for a long three seconds before allowing himself to actually read.
[ Mission: Hold Myles Cortez's hand for 60 consecutive seconds. ]
[ Time Limit: 1 day. ]
[ Current Favorability: -11 ]
[ Penalty: Favorability decay. ]
Blake's pen slipped from his fingers and clattered against the desk.
The student next to him glanced over, annoyed. Blake muttered an apology, bending down to retrieve it, his heart pounding as the words replayed in his head.
He had to hold his hand.
For sixty seconds.
Not brush fingers accidentally. Not quick contact in passing.
Sixty.
Consecutive.
Seconds.
"This fuckass system is giving me no reward for it, either…"
He sank back into his chair and stared at the board without seeing it. A favorability decay would put him in a dangerous position. It basically meant death.
'You've got to be kidding me.' He sighed heavily.
[ Mission difficulty calibrated to current progress. ]
'That's not calibration, you bastard. That's social suicide, again! Haven't I suffered enough of that?!'
Blake forced himself to breathe evenly. Holding hands wasn't inherently impossible. People did it all the time. Couples did. Friends sometimes did. In crowded places, it was practical.
Practical.
The word lodged in his mind.
His gaze drifted toward Myles across the room. He was seated by the window again, sunlight flattening the sharpness of his profile into something deceptively soft. He was writing this time, his pen moving steadily across the page, his posture straight but not stiff.
"Hell, there is absolutely nothing about him that invites touch."
Blake imagined reaching across the aisle right now and grabbing his hand.
The image was so absurd he nearly laughed.
'I can't just grab his hand for no reason.'
He thought for a long time and, soon enough, he landed on lunch.
The idea settled slowly, taking shape.
The campus had the main cafeteria inside, but just beyond the gates was a small student bar with cheap drinks, overly sweet pastries, and fried snacks that stained paper bags with grease. It was always crowded during break.
If there was any situation where grabbing someone's hand wouldn't look entirely unhinged, it would be there.
Still.
Sixty seconds.
He checked the time.
9:12 a.m.
He hated anticipation.
***
By the time the lunch bell rang, Blake's nerves had stretched thin. The morning classes passed in a blur.
'He didn't even look at me once. Is that a good sign or...'
He jolted at the sound of the bell.
'Okay. Okay. I have to do this now. It's all or nothing.'
As students spilled into the hallway, Blake hesitated only briefly before closing the distance between them.
"Myles."
Myles slowed just enough to acknowledge him without fully stopping. "Yes?"
"Are you going to the cafeteria?"
"Yeah."
"Do you ever go outside? To the bar near the gates?"
A few students brushed past them, jostling shoulders. Myles shifted slightly to avoid a collision without breaking stride.
"No."
Blake forced himself not to overthink the next sentence. "Nice. I was going to grab something sweet. You paid for my bus yesterday. Let me buy you something."
The hallway noise pressed in around them: lockers slamming, laughter ricocheting off the tile walls, someone calling out across the crowd.
Myles' gaze settled on him. "You don't owe me," he said.
"I know. I still want to."
Silence lingered between them for half a second too long.
"Fine."
Relief surged so abruptly that Blake had to consciously suppress it.
They walked side by side toward the campus gates. The closer they got to the exit, the denser the crowd became. Students flowed outward in waves, voices overlapping into an indistinct roar.
The bar's bright sign flickered above the narrow entrance, already surrounded by a cluster of impatient teenagers.
Blake's pulse quickened.
This was it.
Inside, the space was worse than he imagined.
Humid with body heat and sugar, the air thick with the scent of caramel syrup and frying oil. Orders were shouted over the counter. Someone laughed too loudly near the back. A group of juniors blocked half the walkway, debating flavors.
Myles stepped in without hesitation, weaving through the bodies with efficient, minimal movement.
Blake followed, nearly losing him twice.
This wouldn't work if he lost him.
He closed the gap quickly, his shoulder brushing Myles' arm as someone shoved past from the opposite direction.
"Haha, it's so crowded…"
Myles didn't look at him as he continued walking.
They were nearly at a standstill near the counter. Students pressed from behind, impatient, pushing forward inch by inch.
Blake inhaled sharply.
'Do it. Don't hesitate.'
Before he could overanalyze himself into paralysis, he reached out and caught Myles' hand.
For a split second, Myles didn't react at all.
Blake's heart leapt into his throat.
"Stay close," he said quickly, forcing a casual tone he did not feel. "You'll get separated."
He began moving forward, using a small opening in the crowd to guide them through.
Myles followed.
He didn't pull away.
'His hands are so cold. Ugh. This is too awkward.'
Blake's grip tightened unconsciously as someone elbowed his shoulder from the side. He shifted his body slightly, placing himself between Myles and the worst of the push, steering them toward the counter.
He could feel the structure of Myles' hand. Long fingers, steady, no tension in the grip. If anything, Myles' hand felt… relaxed.
Blake risked a glance.
Myles was watching the crowd ahead, not their joined hands.
His expression remained composed.
"How protective," Myles said mildly, his voice low enough that it didn't carry beyond them.
Blake's stomach flipped. "I mean, it's practical."
"Is it?"
They reached the counter.
Blake's mind split in two: the part that needed to order quickly and the part that was counting seconds.
He tried not to make it obvious.
"…Two iced coffees," he said, barely glancing at the menu. "And whatever that is." He pointed at the nearest pastry without caring what it actually was.
He shifted slightly to the side as someone tried to squeeze between them.
He did not release Myles' hand.
The system remained silent.
There was no timer visible, so he had to estimate.
Ten seconds.
Fifteen.
Myles' thumb shifted slightly against his palm, not pulling away but adjusting position as if testing the contact.
Blake's pulse stumbled.
'If I let go now, does it count as a failure?'
He forced himself to keep his grip steady but not tight.
'Can't risk it.'
Twenty-five seconds.
Thirty.
The cashier shoved the drinks toward them. Blake released Myles' hand only long enough to hand over the cash, then reclaimed it immediately under the guise of maneuvering through the exit.
Outside, the air felt shockingly cool after the heat inside. The crowd spilled onto the sidewalk, dispersing slowly.
Blake kept walking until they were a few steps away from the densest cluster.
Forty-five seconds.
Fifty.
He slowed.
"Careful," he added unnecessarily, guiding Myles around a group blocking the path.
Fifty-five.
Fifty-six.
Fifty-seven.
Fifty-eight.
Fifty-nine.
Sixty.
The system chimed softly.
[ Mission Complete. ]
[ Favorability: -11 → -10 ]
'This bastard isn't easy to please.'
Blake released his hand as naturally as he could manage, shifting his attention to balancing the drinks.
His fingers tingled where they'd been touching.
Myles glanced down briefly at his now-empty hand before lifting his gaze to Blake.
"You seem determined."
Blake handed him one of the iced coffees. "You agreed to come."
"That isn't the same thing."
Blake took a sip from his own drink to buy time. It was too sweet, syrup clinging to his tongue.
"I didn't want to lose you in there."
Myles studied him for a moment, wind brushing lightly through his hair. The noise of other students faded into a more distant hum now that they were outside.
"You weren't going to," he said without a tinge of arrogance.
Blake's grip tightened slightly around the cup.
"Still," he replied, keeping his voice even, "you never know what might happen."
Myles took a sip of his drink. His expression didn't change, though his eyes flicked briefly toward the campus gates as if mapping exits automatically.
Blake noticed.
He noticed everything now.
"You're very aware of your surroundings," Blake said before he could stop himself.
Myles' gaze returned to him. "Everyone should be."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
Blake hesitated.
He hadn't planned that far.
Up close like this, without the chaos of the cafeteria or classroom to buffer the space between them, the silence felt more deliberate.
"I mean…" Blake searched for something that wouldn't sound accusatory. "It's just that you don't seem surprised by anything."
A faint breeze shifted the edge of Myles' coat.
"There's no reason for me to be surprised by anything," he replied.
Blake let out a soft breath that might have been a laugh. "That's such a strange way to look at things."
Myles' eyes rested on him, unreadable. "Is it?"
For a moment, Blake forgot about missions and favorability scores and catastrophic futures. He saw only a boy standing in the afternoon sunlight, holding a cup of coffee he hadn't asked for, answering questions without embellishment.
And he wondered, dangerously, how much of the novel's version of him had been constructed after the fact.
A group of students burst out of the gates behind them, laughing loudly, shattering the small pocket of quiet.
Myles glanced at the time on his phone.
"We should go back."
Blake nodded.
They walked toward the entrance together, not touching this time, but close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed with each step.
As they reached the gates, Myles slowed slightly.
"You don't need to create situations," he said without looking at Blake.
His pulse ticked upward again. "What situations?"
Myles slid his phone into his pocket.
"If you want to walk beside me," he continued evenly, "you can just walk."
He stepped through the gates.
Leaving Blake momentarily rooted to the spot.
The system screen flickered faintly in his peripheral vision.
[ Emotional variable shifting. ]
Blake stared at Myles' back as he disappeared into the hallway crowd.
His hand still felt cold.