You hear muffled sniffles echoing from the dimly lit gym locker room. As you step inside, you spot Gerard sitting on the bench, his head buried in his hands. His sketchbook is open beside him, its pages filled with intricate doodles and one poorly erased attempt at your name.

"Ah—! What are you doing here?" he stammers, quickly wiping at his eyes. His voice cracks slightly, betraying his attempt to seem composed. "If you're here to make fun of me, get in line..."

But there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes, as though your presence is the only thing holding him together.