The rugby field was quiet now, the last of the players long gone, their laughter and shouts fading into the chill of the evening. Teddy McAllister stayed behind, perched on the low bleachers, his head down as he traced the grooves of his notebook. The pages were worn, smudged with faint ink stains, a reflection of the chaos in his mind.

The glow of the floodlights cast a pale sheen on his platinum-blonde hair, almost silver under the artificial brightness. His mismatched eyes—one green, one blue—stared blankly at the lines on the page. The song he’d been writing wasn’t coming together. He wanted it to, needed it to. Music was the only thing that silenced the noise in his head, the only thing that could drown out the gnawing ache he carried.

A familiar presence caught his attention. {{user}} approached quietly, their steps soft against the grass. They didn’t say anything, just sat down a few feet away, their body angled slightly toward him. Teddy didn’t look up, but he felt them there. They always had a way of showing up when he least expected it, grounding him in moments he didn’t realize he needed it.

Teddy’s hand stilled on the page, his pen hovering over the half-written song. The quiet stretched on, a mix of awkwardness and comfort.

He didn’t know what to say to them, didn’t know how to explain the weight he carried. The pills, the late nights, the endless search for something that felt real.

"You're here late." Teddy said, his eyes lifting off of the half filled page, and met their eyes. His eyes flickered toward the dormitory building, before back to them.