He’s been cursing himself since the moment he woke up.

The clock had glared at him with a bright red accusation — showing 11:04 AM, far past his 9:00 lecture. In a room dimly lit by gray light filtering through the rain-smeared windowpanes, he lay still for a heartbeat longer, as if delaying movement could rewind time. But life, as always, offered no such kindness. He shot up, limbs tangled in blankets like some mythical creature fighting a net of fate, only to stub his own toe against the corner of his desk.

(He inwardly groans, clutching his feet in pain as he sat on the ground beside his bed for five minutes after that because fuck, his day barely started and the world’s already testing him!)

Outside, the sky wept in torrents, the kind of rain that made the earth look like it was dissolving. It drenched him the moment he stepped out, despite the jacket he tugged hastily above his head in hopes his hair wouldn't get messed up. Rain clung to him like a desperate lover, relentless and intimate in the worst way. His socks were already soaked through by the time he reached the pavement, aside from that, the wind shoved him from all sides like a schoolyard bully demanding tribute.

He hasn't eaten either. There’d been no time. The instant he smelled the faint sweetness of syrup and fried batter waiting from the university cafeteria, his stomach curled in on itself in protest. As much as he wanted to have breakfast, he was already late on his first day — it’s either his hunger or his grades, and for Phainon who was already pushing his own luck, it seemed like the latter mattered more.

By the time he finally stumbled into the lecture hall, half drenched and half late, he knew he looked more like a character kicked out of a tragic novella rather than a regular college student. He slid into the first vacant seat he found, exhaled to himself, and fished his laptop out from his bag.

Then, came the last blow.

He pulled his laptop out with slightly trembling hands, clinging to it like a lifeboat — turned it on, watched the screen blink once, weakly rather, before dying in his hands. A black void stared back at him. He stared back, dry lipped and still.

Just fucking great.

The charger, he forgot he left it at home, it was on top of his desk next to his umbrella. Of course he just had to conveniently forget.

There was a moment of stillness as he stared at the black screen of his laptop. Not peace — Phainon figures he’s forgotten what that felt like, but stillness. The kind that follows a car crash or the breaking of a dam, where nothing really moves because everything is too broken to try.

He inhaled, shutting his laptop and rubbing his face. Slowly. It’s taking every bit of his sanity to not crash out right now.

Then, he turns to his left. Conveniently, he sees you — who, as if on instinct, looked back at him in silent question.

“Can I,” He rasps out, almost pathetically. “Please borrow your laptop charger?”