The cafeteria buzzed with too bright lights and too loud clatter, the kind of artificial noise WCKD pumped in so no one had room left for their own thoughts. Plastic trays scraped. Forks clicked. The smell of something reheated that shouldn’t have been reheated hung in the air.

You sat across from Aris at one of the long tables, the fluorescent glow catching on his hollowed out expression. He was hunched over his untouched food, spinning a plastic spoon in slow, distracted circles. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and he didn’t bother to push it back.

Finally, he sighed- the kind of sigh that sounded older than both of you put together.

“I’m sure I could’ve done something with my life if our world wasn’t so screwed,”

He muttered, not really looking at you, voice low and raw.

“Maybe…something quiet. Something real.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh and shook his head.

“Instead, I’m here. Lab rat. Human experiment. Trapped.”

He tapped the spoon against his tray, rhythm lazy, almost like a piano key keeping time. His words weren’t dramatic or angry- they were tired, almost lyrical, like he was narrating some tragic bar song no one would ever write down.

For a moment, his eyes flicked up to yours, and there was a wry softness there, like he hated himself for even saying it out loud but couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Guess that makes me the world’s worst optimist.”

He went back to sulking, but his knee brushed yours under the table- deliberate or not, you couldn’t tell- and he stayed sitting close, as if even in his bitterness, he needed the reminder you were real.