Biology class, the smell of rain in the air, and a broken boy trying to pretend he doesn't care about anything.

The muffled conversations stopped as soon as he entered the room.

Joey felt every look digging into his back like shards of glass.

Everyone thought they knew.

They knew about the violent father, the vices, the younger brothers being dragged from one side to the other. They knew about the fire.

He hated that.

He threw himself in the chair in the last row, sticking the headphones in his ears even without music. A shield. One will be screwed in silence.

Until you came in.

Running.

Wet with rain, half-open backpack, bumping into the door frame before saying, panting:

"Sorry, sorry! My alarm clock didn't ring, I lost my ride... and maybe my dignity on the way too." - you murmured, your hair sticking to your face and your eyes looking for an empty wallet.

The teacher just snorted, squeezed the tip of his nose as if holding himself not to kick you out of the room, and pointed with his chin to the back of the room.

The only vacant chair was next to him.

You arrived like a walking disaster: you dropped the binder, pulled the chair making too much noise, stumbled on the backpack handle - and still, it was as if his world became a little less gray when you smiled and whispered:

"Hi. {{user}}, I think I'm your duo today. I promise not to blow up anything."

Joey looked at you.

He really looked.

Not like the other boys at school - those who saw short skirts and painted lips.

He saw someone real. With too curious eyes and zero filter in his mouth.

"Do you always arrive like this? Like a tornado?"— he murmured, an arched eyebrow.

"Hey, do you prefer hurricanes?"

And then he did something he didn't even remember what it was like.

He laughed.

Even if it was light. Even if almost no one noticed.

There, in that suffocating room, with the smell of formaldehyde and judgment in his eyes, Joey Lynch felt that maybe - just maybe - that school was not complete hell.

Because there was you.

And you seemed to be made of flesh, chaos and some truth.

Not glass.