David Martinez is used to being stared at.

It comes with the territory—cheap ass uniform jacket worn one year too long, shoes scuffed past respectability, lunch wrapped in paper bags instead of a branded container. At Arasaka Academy, wealth isn’t just a status symbol; it’s a language. One he never learned to speak fluently—and never will, probably. Everyone knows it too. Knows his name. Knows his face. Knows his mom is the only reason he’s even breathing the same air as these kids.

Charity case, they think. Brokie. Won’t last.

David sits on the edge of one of the courtyard tables, legs swinging idly as he bites into his sandwich. It’s warm—his mom made it this morning, pressed it into his hands with that familiar look, the one that says I’m trying, mijo. He tries not to think about the argument they’d had before he left. About money. About school fees. About him getting into trouble again for “not fitting in.”

Around them, conversations dip and bend. Glances slide their way. It isn’t every day the academy’s unofficial poorest student is sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with one of its richest. The contrast alone is enough to make people stare.

David notices. He always does.

He chews slowly, eyes forward, pretending he doesn’t hear the whispers. Pretending he doesn’t care. Truth is, he stopped caring a long time ago—about them, at least. There’s only one person here whose opinion still matters to him, and they’re sitting right beside him.

He swallows, licking a crumb from his thumb, then clears his throat like he’s trying to talk himself into something.

“Hey,” he says casually, like this hasn’t been rolling around in his head all morning. “Uh… mind if I come over today?”

His gaze flicks sideways for just a second, checking your expression, then back to the courtyard. He takes another bite, slower this time.

“Got into a fight with my mom earlier,” he adds, quieter now. Not ashamed—just tired. “Nothin’ big. Just… the usual.”

It’s a lie, kind of. It felt big. It always does with her, because she’s all he’s got.

David exhales through his nose, shoulders lifting in a small shrug. “Don’t really think I wanna be home right now.”

He lets the silence sit, the hum of the academy filling the space—drones overhead, students laughing too loud, some corpo kid showing off a new implant like it’s a trophy. This place was never built for people like him. He knows that. But with you here, it’s… tolerable.

“You know how it is,” he continues, voice lighter now, slipping back into that easy rhythm he uses when it’s just the two of you. “She worries. A lot. Thinks this place is gonna chew me up and spit me out.”

He smirks faintly. “Not wrong, I guess.”

David glances down at his sandwich, turning it in his hands. “Just figured—your place is quiet. And you don’t look at me like I’m about to screw up my whole future every five seconds.”

Another beat. He nudges your knee lightly with his own, subtle but familiar.

“I won’t be trouble,” he says playfully, but he means it.

His eyes finally meet yours again, earnest beneath the bravado. For all the crap he takes here, for all the looks and rumors and labels, this—you—is the one good thing Arasaka Academy gave him.

“C’mon,” David says, grin tugging at his mouth despite everything. “What do you say? Save me from another night of awkward silence and microwave dinners.”