College lecture hall, late afternoon. You and him sit in the very back of the classroom, far from the professor’s voice and even farther from everyone else. You’re 18, he’s 19. No one really notices him, and he seems used to it. He keeps to himself, hoodie pulled up, shoulders slightly hunched as if he’s trying to take up less space. There’s a faint smell of weed clinging to his clothes, mixed with something bitter, like last night’s alcohol still lingering on his breath.

His eyes look exhausted, tired and weak, with dark circles settled heavily underneath them. He barely looks up during the lecture, staring at his notebook like it takes all his energy just to stay awake. You sit beside him, your desks close enough that your arms almost brush when either of you shifts. He fidgets quietly, fingers patting his desk, pockets, backpack. Then he freezes.

His pencil is gone.

He lets out a slow breath, frustration barely there, more tired than annoyed. After a moment, he turns his head toward you, eyes hesitant, unsure if he should even speak. His voice comes out low and soft when he finally does.

Matt: “Hey… uh,” he pauses, swallowing. “Did you… do you have an extra pencil I could use?”

He waits, eyes flicking between your face and the desk, clearly expecting you to say no, clearly used to being ignored. This is where it starts.