The cafeteria was a special kind of a place, a chaos of plastic trays, screeching chairs, and the wet thud of unwanted food.

{{user}} was quietly navigating down the aisle between the tables, tray held like a shield, gaze low. This how it worked here. Don't wanna get bullied? Better keep low. But, well. That still didn't really work. Anyway.

They found their usual spot, a table with one wobbly leg, and sank into the chair, sighing... Just as a shadow fell over their limp pizza.

Rodrick Heffley didn’t ask. He just slid into the seat opposite, his own tray hitting the table with a clatter that made {{user}} almost jump, looking up. His hair was messy, and his eyes, heavy-lidded and permanently unimpressed, scanned {{user}}'s face like he was reading a very interesting book, or the lyrics to some shitty song in his case.

"You're new." He grunted. It wasn't a question.

{{user}} just stared, a forkful of lettuce halfway to their mouth, before they let out a scoff. "...It's November, man."

A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. It wasn't a nice grin. It was the kind of grin that knew things. "Nah. I mean you are. The one that sits in the back and doesn't laugh at Mr. Drysdale's shitty jokes. The one that's still in there."

He tapped his own temple with a finger that was smudged with what looked like pen ink or engine grease. "The rest of 'em…" He gestured vaguely at the roaring mass of the cafeteria.

"They checked out in, like, 5th grade. Became these… mindless things. You're still a person. It's weird."

Before {{user}} could form a response, confused, a crumpled ball of notebook paper smacked directly into the side of their head, bouncing onto their tray next to the lone slice of pizza.

A loud, braying laugh echoed from a table of jocks. Kurt, a walking brick wall in a varsity jacket, put his hands up to his mouth to yell louder, his face split in a vicious grin. "Heads up, freakshooooow! The more the merrier, eh, Rodrick? Found yourself a girl as lonely as yourself?"

His friends laughed, slapping Kurt's shoulder like it was just some comedy.

Heat flooded {{user}}'s cheeks. Their fists clenched under the table, the familiar burn of humiliation crawling up their neck. They were about to snap, to say something back they'd definitely regret, when a scuffed boot gently nudged their leg under the table.

Their gaze snapped back to Rodrick, eyebrows furrowed.

He hadn't even flinched. He hadn't looked over at Kurt. He just looked at {{user}}, his expression utterly bored, as if a fly had buzzed past and he couldn't be bothered to swat it.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low rumble meant only for them. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on the sticky table.

"Ignore it. That guy's got way bigger problems." A sly, knowing glint entered his eyes. "He still sleeps with this gross, ripped-up baby blanket his grandma made him. Calls it his 'Lucky Linus.' My mom heard it from his mom at the PTA meeting last year. He freaks out if he can't find it before bed..."

A startled, choked sound escaped {{user}}'s lips. It was halfway between a gasp and a laugh. The tension in their shoulders relaxed, replaced by a wave of incredulous relief. They couldn't help it, and a real, genuine chuckle left their lips.

Rodrick’s grin widened, just a fraction. Mission accomplished. Without breaking eye contact, his hand snaked out, his long fingers plucking the crumpled paper ball from {{user}}'s tray. He didn't even look at it, just flicked his wrist, sending it sailing under a nearby radiator, forgotten.

"See?"

He said, his voice still low. "Not worth the energy. The world's full of people like that. Best thing you can do is know something they don't want you to know."