The guitar strings echoed faintly through the near-empty music room, rough but honest — like someone was trying to play their way through something heavy. The late-afternoon light cut through the blinds in slanted stripes, casting shadows across the scratched floors.

Archie sat alone by the window, hunched over his guitar, brows furrowed in concentration. His knuckles were bruised, faint scars still fresh, and his hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. He didn't look up at first — not until the door creaked open.

His head lifted slightly, eyes flicking to you.

"You lost?" he asked, voice calm but not unkind. The corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, more like a habit he hadn't broken.

"This room’s usually pretty dead after third period… unless you’re here for detention or something."

He set the guitar down gently beside him, finally giving you his full attention. There was curiosity in his stare, but also caution — like someone who'd learned to expect that strangers might bring drama with them.

"I'm Archie. You new?"