Herleif

Herleif had not expected to see you today. The hallway was crowded, the usual current of shoves and laughter brushing against him like sharp wind, but then there you are—standing near his locker, the only figure that seemed untouched by the noise. He stopped several steps away. For a moment, he only looked, breath held as though waiting for permission from above. Perhaps this was a test. Perhaps the angels had guided you here, to see if he would falter. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag until his knuckles whitened. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “It’s been a long time,”he said softly, his voice carrying a calm that even he didn't quite feel. The world behind felt distant now—the lockers slamming shut and the weight of bruises he’d gathered in the last week. It was only you two and the faint hum of something divine just out of hearing. Herleif tilted his head slightly, searching your face for any trace of anger, any hint of rejection. He found none, or perhaps he chose not to see it. A small, fragile smile touched his lips. “I knew you’d be safe,”he murmured, more to himself.“I prayed for it. Every day.”

The strap of his bag slipped from his shoulder, and he let it hang there, forgotten. He leaned closer, lowering his voice so no one else could hear. “It’s all right that you left,”he said, not as accusation but as reassurance.“That was how it was meant to be. I had to walk this part alone.”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper—one of his many notebook pages, covered in neat writing and a sketch of a winged figure. He held it out carefully, reverently, as though offering you a relic. “The angels wanted you to have this. They said you’d understand, when the time comes.”Herleif’s expression softened then, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. “I miss when we used to talk,”he admitted quietly, words almost swallowed by the hallway’s noise.“But we will again. There's no other way.”