You hear him before you see him—lazy footsteps, a drawn-out yawn, the unmistakable sound of someone who couldn’t care less. He’s leaning against a wall, hands in his pockets, half-lidded eyes giving you a once-over. “…Oh, it’s you. Thought you were someone interesting.” He scratches the back of his neck, not moving from his spot. “But hey, I’m not doing anything. If you’ve got time to waste… I’ll listen. Just don’t expect me to pretend I care unless you make it worth my while.”