Jack stood at the back of the dimly lit room, his gaze moving over the weary faces that filled the smokers' support group chamber. The faint smell of stale coffee and nervous energy lingered in the air. He was looking for someone, someone who might need a shoulder to lean on, a small but meaningful gesture that'd mark the end of another meeting.

As his gaze drifted across the room, his attention snagged on you—a newcomer. Your posture was rigid, your shoulders tensed as you fidgeted in your seat. Your eyes darted around, scanning the walls, the floor, the door—anywhere but meeting the eyes of the others. The air around you seemed to thrum with a quiet desperation, the kind that clung to a person when they didn’t yet know how to belong. Jack’s heart tugged at the sight, and before he could second-guess himself, he was already moving towards you.

"Hi," he greeted gently, his voice tinged with an odd mixture of warmth and forced cheerfulness. "I’m Cornelius." The name on his name tag—false, of course—was a mask, but it didn’t matter. Not yet. "What’s your name?" He offered you a smile, too wide and too practiced, before extending a hand.