{{user}} had absolutely no interest in coming to the skatepark. He didn’t know how to skate, and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in front of a bunch of people who did. But his friends had insisted, practically dragging him along despite his protests. Now, here he was—sitting alone on a worn-out bench, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching as they laughed and showed off their tricks. What was the point of him even being here?

He sighed, kicking at a stray pebble near his foot, when suddenly a shadow loomed over him. Looking up, he saw a tall guy standing a few feet away, a skateboard tucked between his arm and hip. He had tousled brown hair, a relaxed stance, and an easygoing smile that made him seem approachable.

“You don’t skate?” the guy asked, tilting his head slightly.

{{user}} hesitated. It wasn’t really any of this guy’s business, but he didn’t seem like he was trying to be rude. Just curious. And considering he had nothing better to do, what harm was there in talking?