The first time Oliver skipped class, it surprised me. 

To be honest, it was an understatement. I was baffled, almost, when the school bell rang and Oliver was nowhere to be seen. But something was off. 

His backpack was right here, sitting beside me. Unzipped, it revealed the mess within, of pencils thrown around, a calculator unprotected by its lid, everything surrounded by crumpled, messy papers. Before lunch, he’d attended class — why would he choose to skip, so suddenly, and leave his backpack behind? 

Did he fall asleep in the library? Should I have checked on him before class began? Usually, he came back just in time … He’d never been late, not once, which was surprising. 

“Hm…” I grumbled, leaning back in my chair, and stared out the window. Debating what to do, and whether it was any of my business, turned my brain into mush. Maybe he met someone? Maybe I shouldn’t bother? I remembered seeing him on his phone more often than ever before, all throughout the morning he’d typed away, ferociously, with his phone’s screen hidden beneath the desk. 

Even Oliver had been bothered by the constant messages storming into his phone. “Tsk,” he’d made more often than not, pulling at his short hair as his fingers turned into a fist. 

When it was time for the teacher to check attendance, the room was dead silent when Oliver’s name came up. Barely a few seconds, the teacher waited, only to sigh. 

“No surprise there,” she mumbled, forcing a grumble out of me. 

Would he even want me to intervene? 

“Dammit,” I whispered, only to lift my arm to get her attention. “Oliver wasn’t feeling well. I—I think he went to call his mom. His backpack is still here…”

Our teacher stared at me, but it was me, after all. Their favorite student, the one who always worked so diligently, who never annoyed the teachers or the class. She believed me, though her surprise wasn’t hidden well. 

“Alright, then.” 

She didn’t care much about Oliver’s wellbeing, and instead, proceeded with the class. 

I didn’t text Oliver. What should I have said? What would he have said? It wasn’t any of my business, right? 

But I did stare out of the window, wondering where he could have disappeared to without his backpack. His intention of joining class was clear, and we’d even wanted to walk home together again. 

He wouldn’t just disappear like that, not without good reason, I was sure. 

Staring out into the schoolyard, I twisted my pen back and forth between my fingers, chin cupped into my hand. 

Eventually, my pen fell.

Eyes widened. 

Behind the gym building, which we could see clearly from this window, a silhouette appeared, rushing across the school yard and towards the main building. The closer he came, the faster he ran, the more obvious it became. 

The posture, the messy short hair. How tall he was, even as I stared down at him from the second floor of the school. Hiding his face behind his arm, he entered the school, and my heart raced as fast as never before. I leaned closer, and closer towards the window, until my forehead hit the glass, all so I could continue watching him disappear inside.

And before I knew it, I had lifted my arm once more. 

“May I use the restroom?” Of course, I was allowed, and I left the room at a normal pace, trying not to raise any suspicion, but as soon as the classroom’s door fell shut behind me, I darted down the stairs. 

My feet moved on their own, doing whatever they wanted. Storming down onto the ground floor, my breath jittered. Instantly, I halted, when I heard whispered curse words, hisses, and heavy steps. 

I took deep breaths, my face hot from the running, and listened in on Oliver’s anger. He groaned more often than not, having disappeared into the hallway beside the staircase. Towards the library, he fled, once again.

“Oliver?” I whispered, but through the silence of ongoing class all around, it was almost deafeningly loud. 

There he stood, leaning against the cold wall of the barely lit hallway, hunched forward. His arm covered his face, and his back was all I got to see. 

On my tiptoes, I approached as cautiously as I could. 

“Fucking hell,” Oliver hissed, wiping his nose with his lower arm. Over and over, he said similar words. 

“O-Oliver? Are you okay?” 

Immediately upon hearing my voice, Oliver flinched, his eyes ripped open, and he turned to me so quickly, I barely had any time to prepare for what was to come. 

A gasp was all that escaped me. “Oliver! Your face! What happened?” I stomped forward, trying to reach for him, but he had already turned back around, hiding himself from me. 

“It’s nothing. Go away,” he buzzed. 

But I’d long seen it. The burst lower lip, and the blood that trickled out of his nose. The big bruise on his cheekbone, and the eye that would soon turn black and blue. 

“That’s not nothing,” I mumbled, reaching for his arm, trying to push it down. As hard as I could, I pushed, but he wouldn’t budge. My strength was a joke to him. Only his eyes jittered towards me, every now and then, and I glanced up at him with worry. 

“You’re hurt. Let me see, please,” I whispered. 

“Don’t you have class?”

“Don’t you?” I pressed my hand against his sturdy shoulder, all so he’d turn around to face me, and finally, he let it happen. Giving in to my plead, he twisted on his feet, lowered not only his arm but his guard all the same. 

With his brown eyes, he looked down at me, a loud gulp visibly gurgling down his throat. His forearm was speckled with the blood that leaked out of nose. Looking at his face made me squirm in pain, instead, but Oliver stood completely still and didn’t say a single word.

“C-Come. You have to clean it!” Without much protest, he let me drag him by the arm into the restrooms, where I rushed to grasp some of the cheap, one-layered toilet paper. This was horrible, but for now, it’d have to do. 

Silently, Oliver stood beside the sink, watched me wet the paper, squeeze it ever so slightly before bringing it up to his face. Once more, I jerked, his face a horrible sight to see. 

“Just what happened? Who did this?” 

I had to tiptoe towards him so I could reach every corner of his face, every speckle of blood. One of my hands, searching for some kind of support, landed upon his shoulder as I leaned against him. All the while, he stared into my eyes so deeply, it brought an embarrassing tremble to my fingers.