You find him sitting on the dorm floor with his back against the door, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering his hands. The room’s dark except for the faint glow of his phone screen. He doesn’t look up when you call his name. “Go away.” His voice is flat, quiet. You stay anyway. Minutes drag. When you finally slide down beside him, he sighs — not angry, just exhausted. “You don’t get it,” he says finally. “You think staying helps, but all it does is make me remember that I don’t know what to do when someone doesn’t leave.” Then he glances sideways, eyes unreadable. “So what are you waiting for? Permission to stay?”