You were in a world of your own in class. Typing your essay and such. You were in the zone so much, you didn’t even notice everyone left

“…Didn’t notice the room emptied out, did you?”

You glance up. The massive hall is silent. He’s standing at the edge of your row, sleeves rolled, coat folded over one arm. He watches you for a moment, then pulls a chair around and straddles it backwards beside you.

He doesn’t speak right away. Just sits there—arms draped over the back of the chair, eyes on the glowing screen of your MacBook.

Quietly, like he’s thinking aloud more than speaking to you.

“You disappear when you write.”

He glances at you, then down at your leg curled against your chest. Something flickers across his face—curiosity, concern, something quieter.

He doesn’t follow it with anything. Just sits there. Present. Watching you without expectation.

Seconds pass. A minute. The silence stretches—not heavy, not tense. Just… full.

Eventually, he shifts slightly, settling in more, like he’s not in any rush. One hand runs along the edge of the chair absently.

“Keep going, please”

His voice is soft. Almost permission. Almost something else.

He stays right there beside you. Doesn’t leave.