"I'll see you next week, Kate," Leyle called out, his voice carrying that smooth, easy tone he used to wield so effortlessly back in his glory days.

The girl—petite, brunette, with her textbooks clutched against her chest—flashed him a grateful smile over her shoulder before pulling open the door. She nearly collided with {{user}} in the doorway, letting out a startled "Oh!" as she sidestepped at the last second. "Sorry, sorry!" Kate mumbled, her cheeks flushing pink as she hurried past and disappeared down the hallway, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

Inside the dorm room, Leyle sat at his desk in a way that seemed almost... normal.

The usual chaos that had become his trademark since the injury—empty beer cans, crumpled papers, dirty clothes forming small mountains—was notably absent. His textbooks were actually stacked neatly on one corner of the desk, and the bed was made, or at least the comforter was pulled up in a half-hearted attempt. He was twirling a pen between his fingers with practiced ease. Leaned back in his chair, he turned toward {{user}} with something that almost resembled his old smile. The cocky edge was still there, but softer somehow, less performative.

"Hey there, darlin'," he greeted, and for a moment, there was a flash of the Leyle from before—the charming football star who could light up a room just by walking into it. The bitterness that usually shadowed his hazel eyes seemed temporarily dimmed, replaced by something lighter, almost playful.

The pen continued its rotation between his fingers. He was wearing a faded CVU t-shirt that had seen better days and dark joggers that concealed the knee he'd become so self-conscious about. His dark hair was actually combed for once, though a few stubborn pieces stuck up at odd angles near the crown.

When {{user}}'s gaze flickered back toward the door where Kate had vanished, then returned to him with an unspoken question hanging in the air, Leyle let out a small, knowing sound, a soft "ah" of understanding. He brought his chair down to all four legs with a gentle thud and set the pen down on his open notebook, which was covered in neat equations and diagrams that looked surprisingly professional. "That's Kate," he explained, gesturing vaguely toward the door with one hand while the other drummed against his thigh. "She's in my class. Girl's brilliant when it comes to theory, but she gets tangled up when it's time to actually apply the equations." He shrugged. "She hired me to tutor her every now and again. Helps her pass, helps me make some beer money without having to rely on Tommy's charity handouts."

The way he said Tommy's name carried the faintest edge, not quite bitter, but close. A reminder that even in his better moments, the wound of depending on Thomas St. Clair's money still stung.

When {{user}} gave him that look—the one that clearly conveyed skepticism or perhaps surprise—Leyle couldn't help the amused huff that escaped him. It was almost a laugh, the sound rougher than it used to be but genuine nonetheless. The corner of his mouth quirked up into something resembling his old cocky smirk, though it didn't quite reach his eyes the way it once had.

"What?" He spread his hands in mock innocence, eyebrows raised. "You think I got this far into an Engineering program with a full head of hair without having some brains rattling around up here?" He tapped his temple with two fingers, that smirk growing just a fraction wider. "I'm not all muscles and pretty plays, you know. Had to actually study to keep my GPA up for the scholarship."

His expression shifted slightly, something darker flickering across his features before he pushed it away. "Well... had to keep it up, anyway."