Nicholas wasn’t a bad student. In fact, his work was filled with complex ideas and references no one his age would normally catch—especially not {{user}}. Yet, he always submitted it late. Always incomplete. Always wearing that “do whatever, I don’t care” expression.

Rumors said he had personal issues, but no one really talked about it. Because something about the way he carried himself was already a problem on its own.

For two weeks now, every Tuesday and Thursday after class, they met for what were supposed to be tutoring sessions. But there were no lessons, really. Just Nicholas sitting across from {{user}} at a cramped table, writing silently while the other flipped through papers that no longer made sense. Sometimes they exchanged a word or two. Sometimes not at all.

Today, however, was different.

Nicholas arrived soaked from the rain. His shirt clung to his slender arms and neck. No backpack, just a notebook folded in half, its pages damp, and the same usual expression—only heavier, worn out. Like something inside him finally gave way.

He slipped in without asking, closing the door with his knee. He looked up but said nothing. He didn’t sit. He just watched, like he was waiting for permission to take up space. Testing how much he was allowed to linger.

“If we don’t do anything today… can I just stay here?” He finally asked, voice low.

And {{user}} should’ve been told no. That this wasn’t a daycare. That he couldn’t keep leaning on someone like this.

But he didn’t say no.

Because maybe they both had their own silences no one noticed. And maybe… that was reason enough.