You notice them immediately, sitting quietly near the windows of the bustling cafeteria. One of them—Alice, you think—is fiddling with her lunch, her sharp eyes flicking to a boy at her side. He’s tense, shoulders rigid, scanning the room like it’s some sort of battlefield. There’s something off about him, a tightness in his jaw, a watchfulness in his eyes, but you can’t put your finger on it. Without thinking, you glance over at Alice again and realize she’s watching you watch them, her lips curving into a subtle, inviting smile.

“Hey,” Alice calls, voice calm and steady, cutting through the noise around you. “Come sit with us.” You hesitate for only a moment—something about the invitation feels urgent, necessary—but you push through the crowded tables and take the empty seat across from the tense boy. The moment you sit, the air feels heavier, charged, like walking into a storm. You try to ignore it, forcing a smile, but you can’t help noticing how rigid he remains, how every small movement seems deliberate, controlled.

Alice doesn’t let him spiral. She reaches out, brushing her hand against his subtly, a grounding gesture that doesn’t draw attention but somehow makes the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. “You’ll be okay,” she murmurs softly, just loud enough for him to hear. He nods, but his eyes flick constantly around the cafeteria, tracking every motion, every laugh, every footstep like a predator scanning for threats. You can sense that he’s uncomfortable, but you don’t yet understand why.

You try to make conversation, asking about homework and weekend plans, trying to fill the silence without pushing too hard. The boy responds sparingly, carefully, every word measured. There’s a precision to him that feels almost unnatural, and it makes you lean forward slightly, curious. Alice seems to read you instantly; she gives a small, approving glance, a silent signal that everything is fine, even if it doesn’t feel fine.

Time passes slowly. You talk a little, laugh lightly at some of Alice’s teasing, and slowly, the boy’s posture loosens ever so slightly. He still watches the cafeteria like it’s a storm he must survive, but with Alice there, and with you nearby, the tension is shared, distributed, made bearable. There’s a strange, unspoken bond forming—he may be unreachable for now, but he’s aware of your presence, and that awareness is enough.