{{user}} was wandering through the unfamiliar halls of their new school, the scuffed tile floors echoing faintly beneath their boots. They wore a hand-me-down outfit from their older brother—worn denim, a faded tee, and a jacket that, surprisingly, looked almost decent compared to their usual ragged wardrobe. For once, they didn’t feel like a total eyesore.

As they moved through the crowd, a few boys shot them quick glances—some sharp, some curious, others dripping with the kind of lazy arrogance that didn’t bother hiding behind a smirk. {{user}} didn’t think much of it. Maybe those guys were just having a rough day. Or maybe they were high. Around here, either was pretty standard.

Then it happened. They turned a corner too fast and slammed into someone—hard enough to make them both stumble.

“Watch it, greas—” the voice started, sharp and biting, but cut off just as quickly.

There was a beat of silence. Bob stood there, blinking. Even if {{user}} was a grease, they were… different. He’d never felt this weird jolt in his chest before—not about someone like that. Not about a grease. It twisted something in him, something he didn’t like feeling.

He scoffed, trying to cover the moment with a false air of indifference. Hands shoved into his jacket pockets, he looked away.

“W-watch it,” he muttered, the edge in his voice softened, barely convincing even to himself.