Travis Phelps sat beside you on a quiet autumn afternoon, hidden away from the world under the shade of a sprawling oak tree in the park. He looked out over the grass, his face softened by the golden light filtering through the branches. It was rare to see him like this—calm, at peace, and maybe, just maybe, almost happy.

You caught him tracing patterns in the dirt with a small stick, his usual tense expression replaced by something more relaxed. The two of you had wandered over here after school, away from the noise and prying eyes, seeking a moment of normalcy. You noticed the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at you, though his gaze quickly dropped back to the ground.

“I got Sour Patch Kids,” he said quietly, holding out a crinkled packet, as though he’d been waiting to show it off. The sour candy was one of his favorites—an odd indulgence he didn’t seem to get often enough. He dropped a few in your hand before carefully taking one for himself, savoring it with closed eyes.

The moment felt simple, but you knew just how much weight it carried for him. Even sitting this close, you could see how he barely allowed himself to lean in your direction, as though keeping that safe distance meant something he couldn’t quite put into words.

He didn’t speak much, just glanced at you with those hazel eyes of his, catching the sunlight. Little flecks of green seemed to dance within them as he spoke, softer than usual, telling you about the stray cat he’d befriended around his neighborhood. “I tried petting him yesterday,” he murmured, his tone almost reverent. “He didn’t run away this time.”

You knew what he meant—what the trust of that stray cat meant to him. It was everything. And as he talked, you listened, letting him hold that moment of calm in the quiet presence you offered.