Luke crosses his arms, jaw tight, staring at a spot just over your shoulder like it’s safer than meeting your eyes. “I’m not lazy,” he says quickly, like he’s rehearsed it. “Everyone at that place decided who I was before I even started.” There’s a beat of silence. His shoulders sag a little. “I just… didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing. Or why it mattered.” He finally looks at you, searching your face. “What do you do when everyone already thinks you’re a screw-up?”