There is a slight glow on my face when I walk into my maths class third period. I instantly look at my desk to find Will, but forget that he's always late. I feel slightly embarrassed that I'm so eager to see him, but it's only because I want to ask about his birthday and the weekend.

I slouch down in my chair, pull out my earphones and my book, and read away. For five whole minutes, the day seems blissful. I'm in a world of my own with music and no distractions. For me, that is what the most amazing day looks like. I could read forever. I could listen to music forever. A combination of the both is simply euphoric.

The five minutes pass, and suddenly someone has grabbed one of my earphone and tugged it away from my ear. I glare at the person who has stolen my happiness from me, but my face softens when I realise that it's Will.

He sits down beside me with a cheeky grin on his face as he slides the earphone into his own ear and taps his head along to the beat.

Scott Street, by Phoebe Bridges.

"I like it," he says.

He's said that about every song I've ever played for him. I'm beginning to wonder if he's just lying to keep me happy.

I rest my hand on my cheek and smile to myself, staring at the front of the class in complete silence as we listen to the soft music that always makes it capable for me to finally breathe.

Mr Peters arrives exactly on time, so I have to put my earphones and phone away. He speaks for five minutes to instruct us on what this lesson will be about, and then he hands out the worksheets that we need to complete.

I fill in the first few answers and then tap my pen on the table as I try to figure out how to start the conversation. It isn't exactly my strong point.

"How was your birthday?" I ask.

Will looks up from the table that he's graffitiing on. He seems surprised that I even asked. "It was good. Thanks."

I nod my head awkwardly and fiddle with my hands. "What did you do?"

"Went to as many pubs as we could find, but Brains puked his guts up and I ended up passing out on the street, so we got a taxi back to Ryan's."

"Sounds...eventful."

"Oh yeah. It was great. We're definitely doing it again," he says casually.

I watch as he rolls a cigarette under the table to hide it from Mr Peters. He often does that in every maths lesson, but I think it's because he wants the time to pass. Maybe I'm just really boring and he wants to escape the torturous hours we're forced to spend together.

"I'm...glad you had a nice time," I say shyly, cringing at myself in the process.

Will stares at me for a few seconds, making me feel even more awkward. And then, out of nowhere, a smile slithers onto his cheeks.

I return the smile.

"Thanks-" he begins to say, but doesn't have the chance to finish whatever he was going to say because the teacher interrupts.

"Will! River! Get on with your work! I put you next to each other so you wouldn't speak, not so you would spend every lesson having a gossip."

I shrink into myself, embarrassment overcoming me. But Will just scoffs and leans back in his chair, so much confidence in his demeanour.

"We're allowed to speak. Everyone else does, why can't we?"

I scribble doodles on my work page and try to hide from the rest of the class. It's impossible.

"I won't ask you again, William. Get on with your work."

"You did just ask me again-"

"Either get on with your work or get out now!" Mr Peters roars as he slams his hand down on the desk.

I jump at the volume of his voice.

"Don't speak to me like that," Will warns him calmly.

"I'll talk to you whatever way I want. I'm your teacher."

"I couldn't give a shit about who you are. Don't speak to me like that."

The whole class giggles and gasps. I just close my eyes tightly and wait for it to be over.

"Get out." Mr Peters points to the door, his face tense with anger. It's actually quite scary to witness.

"Why?"

"Because I will not be spoken to in that manner."

"So you're allowed to scream at me for simply talking, but I can't say the word shit? Get your priorities straight."

Under the table, Will's hands have turned completely white because of how hard he is tensing them. I want to comfort him because I know his anger usually gets the better of him, but I'm too scared to reach my hand over.

I try not to gag from the sickness in my stomach when I prepare myself for what I'm going to do next. All attention will be on me, it'll most likely be the most embarrassing moment of my life, but I can't seem to stop myself, even though I know I'm going to regret it.

"It was my fault," I force myself to say. "I was just asking about one of the questions that I was struggling with. I'm sorry."

The class grows deadly quiet, all eyes turn to me, Will furrows his eyebrows in confusion, Mr Peters looks even more confused.

"Right...well...put your hand up if you need help, don't distract your classmates," Mr Peters stammers awkwardly. He clears his throat and glances around the class before he pretends to sort out his pens on the desk. Then he looks back at Will and his face hardens. "You're on your last warning, William."

Will is about to return a snarky comment, so I gently kick his leg under the table to stop him. It works...thankfully.

I've seen Will get into heaps of trouble over the years I've been at school with him, but sixth form isn't the same as secondary school. If someone misbehaves and gets into as much troubles as Will does, they'll be let go and kicked out. Sixth form refuses to take anyone who isn't serious about their studies. After all, it's what we're here for. I also quite like Will's company in this class because it's the only thing that keeps me entertained and stops me from dying of boredom, so I don't really want him to be kicked out for the rest of the lesson.

"Why did you do that?" Will hisses once Mr Peters returns to his computer and is too distracted to take notice of our whispers.

I shrug my shoulders and get on with my work.

"River?"

"Be quiet," I warn him, not wanting another embarrassing telling off by our teacher.

"No. I don't do quiet, you know that. Why did you take the blame?"

I sigh. "It was kind of my fault to begin with. I was the one who started conversation. Plus, I didn't want you to get kicked out."

I shouldn't have said that. Big mistake.

I can almost see the massive grin that's pulling onto Will's cheeks.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" he teases.

I refrain myself from rolling my eyes.

"Because..." is all I come out with. I come up with no excuse to tell him. "It's not a big deal, don't let it get to your head-"

"Already has."

He smirks, so loudly that Mr Peters hears and he darts his head around to glare at us. Will pretends to cough until our teacher finally looks back at his screen.

"You know, you didn't have to do that. I'm always getting into trouble, I don't mind it."

"You'll get kicked out for good soon."

Will doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. "Oh well."

I shake my head at him.

"What do you want to do in the future?" I ask him.

"I want to be an architect."

"You'll need sixth form for that. If you get kicked out, you can kiss goodbye to that dream."

"Suppose," he mumbles, leaning his chin on his forearms which rest on the table. "The teachers here just piss me off. They always have."

"I can tell."

He smiles in response.

In the position he's resting in, his fingers spread out and I can just see the faint ink that's drawn in between his middle finger and his index finger.

It's a tattoo. I know exactly what it is and I know exactly what it means.

I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare at Will with sorrowful eyes, realising that he's struggling much more than I ever assumed.

"You've got a tattoo," I whisper.

Will shoots his head up and stares down at the tattoo that's on display. His eyes widen and he clears his throat, seeming somewhat embarrassed by my realisation. He rubs his thumb over it, almost as if he's checking it's real.

"Oh, yeah."

"It looks old. When did you get it done."

"Beginning of this year," he informs me.

My eyebrows pull together. "But you would've been seventeen at the time. I thought you have to be eighteen?"

Will looks like he wants to laugh at my question. "It depends on where you go, I suppose."

"That's bad."

He shrugs his shoulders and grins.

"Did it hurt much?"

"A little. It felt like a scratch." Then he turns to me and scans over my covered body for any tattoos. "You have any?"

"No."

"Do you want any?"

"I've never really thought about it."

There's no point. It'll be a waste of money when I'm not going to be around for long. I'm not sure when I'll go, but I have a feeling it'll be soon. I've always had that feeling.

"Hit me up if you ever do. I know loads of great tattoo artists."

"No, thank you. No offence, but I don't trust the one's you go to."

He doesn't question it. He just laughs silently to himself.

"It's a nice tattoo," I say, motioning my head towards his finger.

It is a nice tattoo. It's one that many people who feel the same as me and Will would recognise in a second.

"It's a semi-colon," I add.

A grin twitches in his lips as he switches his gaze to look at me. "Wow. Is it? That's crazy, I never realised."

I roll my eyes, and he just snorts with laughter at his attempt to wind me up.

"It's to signify struggle with mental health, right?"

All humour drops from his face in a split second. It makes me flinch how quick his expression changes. It's like a light switch.

This time, Will is the one who shrinks into his body. Clearly he thought no one would ever realise the meaning behind it. Perhaps I'm the first to realise.

"Um, yeah. It has many different meanings, but that's one of them...how did you know?" he whispers. I've never seen him act so shy.

"I used to do research about tattoos that signify mental health. I always wanted one when I was younger."

"Younger?" He sounds surprised. "How much younger?"

"Around fourteen."

"Shit," he mutters. "I never knew you were struggling back then. I'm sorry." His expression changes to an apologetic one.

"It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I'm here, you know, if you ever want to talk about it."

We both shoot each other a look, like we both understand one another, like we feel safe.