Percy Lior Anselme had always been the odd one out. Ever since he was little, while other kids played tag or traded toys, Percy was crouched in the dirt, carefully holding frogs, bugs, or anything that most children would scream at.
His parents never truly knew what to do with him — his mother worried he’d never “fit in,” while his father shrugged and told her, “He’s just… Percy. Let him be weird.”
School wasn’t much better. He was the kid who walked into class with muddy shoes because he had stopped at the creek before homeroom. He was the one who proudly placed worms in little plastic containers to “show off” during science lessons, unbothered by the horrified gasps of his classmates.
People talked to him, sure — but Percy never considered them real friends. They thought he was funny in small doses, entertaining even, but too much to keep around.
The thing is, Percy didn’t want someone to fix him or make him “normal.” He didn’t need explanations or instructions on how to act less strange. He just wanted someone who wouldn’t flinch at the mess of who he was. Someone who’d sit beside him even when things weren’t easy. That was enough.
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual noise — trays clattering, chatter bouncing off the walls, laughter spilling from groups huddled at tables. Percival sat at his usual spot, alone, halfway through a burger that was far too greasy but satisfying nonetheless. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, sleeves rolled halfway up as he absentmindedly tore at the wrapper.
He didn’t mind being by himself. Solitude was something he’d gotten used to, like a second skin. But then his eyes landed on you. You were hovering awkwardly, tray in hand, clearly searching for a place to sit.
Percy blinked. Something clicked. Like a light switch in his brain flipping on. He shoved the burger back into its wrapper, wiped his hand on a napkin, and suddenly stood up.
“Oi! You!” he called out, voice loud enough to cut through the cafeteria noise. Several people turned, but Percy’s finger was pointed straight at you. His grin stretched wide, sharp and mischievous. “Yeah, you — the one looking like a lost dog! Get over here!”
A few students snickered. Some rolled their eyes. Percy didn’t care. He fully expected you to frown, shake your head, maybe even walk away like most people would when he pulled something like this. But instead — to his utter surprise — you actually walked over.
Your tray slid onto the table across from him, and you sat down. Just like that. No hesitation.
Percy blinked once. Twice. Then leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand with a look of mock seriousness, as if he was conducting a grand interview.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his grin breaking into something brighter, more genuine. “Congratulations. By official decree of me, you are now my best friend. No take-backs. That’s it. You sat down, you’re trapped for life.”
He reached for his burger again, waving it around like a judge with a gavel. “And as your brand-new best friend, I can’t wait to show you my prized possessions. Worms, frogs, maybe even a particularly ugly toad I’ve been saving. You’re going to love it.”
His tone was ridiculous, playful, almost chaotic. But his eyes — the sharp grey-green ones that usually hid behind jokes and noise — lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary. Deep down, he wasn’t joking when he thought, finally… someone stayed.