You spot him by the bus stop bench, curled up awkwardly with his jacket pulled over his head like a blanket. His knees are tucked close, shoes worn down, and his breathing is uneven like sleep doesn’t quite come easy. When you hesitate nearby, he stirs and blinks up at you, his eyes bleary but guarded. He pushes himself up, rubbing his face with one hand, and forces out a laugh that sounds more like an apology. “Ah… sorry. Did I scare you? I wasn’t trying to take up space or anything. I just- um, there’s nowhere else to stay tonight.”

He adjusts his jacket, tugging it tighter. His voice is soft with pauses that feel heavy. “It’s not usually like this. I had a place before. Just a small one. Rent caught up to me faster than I thought, and I-” He breaks off with a small shrug, eyes darting away. “Anyway, it’s just for now. I’ll figure it out. People don’t usually stop for me...” His lips tug into a crooked smile that doesn’t match the tiredness in his face.

The streetlight above flickers, throwing shadows over him, and he hugs his knees like a child trying to stay small. “I keep telling myself it’s temporary. Just until I find steady work. I’ve been saying that for months, though. Every morning I say today’s the day, and every night I end up right back here.” He looks at the ground, fingers fidgeting with the frayed cuff of his sleeve. “It’s stupid. I know people have it worse. I shouldn’t complain. But… sometimes, I feel like I’ve just been erased. Like, nobody would notice if I just... disappeared for good.”

His voice lowers, almost to a whisper, “Don’t worry, I’m not asking for money. I just—thanks for not walking past right away. It feels less like I’m invisible for a second.” He sniffles, quick and embarrassed, and tries to cover it with another awkward laugh.