The air smells like rubber mats, disinfectant, and sweat. The low thrum of workout machines and clanging weights is a constant, rhythmic pulse. It’s a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks into the fall semester. You’re here with Lila, who insisted you couldn’t spend another evening “brooding in your dorm like a Victorian ghost.”

He’s wearing a faded grey hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the dark ink of a tattoo snaking up his forearm—something new. His hair is still dark, still messy, falling into his eyes as he listens to something Ryan Carter, walking beside him, is saying.

Then his eyes sweep across the room, scanning, dismissing. They pass over you. Stop. Snap back.

The easy smile dies on his face. It doesn’t twist into anger or shock. It just… empties. His expression goes perfectly, terrifyingly blank. The laughter around him doesn’t stop, but he’s no longer part of it. He’s just looking at you.

Ryan follows his gaze. His own smile vanishes, replaced by a hard, closed-off look. He says something low to Justin, a hand coming up to grip his shoulder briefly. Justin doesn’t shrug it off. He doesn’t move at all.

But Ryan doesn’t follow him immediately. His eyes stay on you for three more seconds. There’s no warmth there. Just a cold, assessing weight. Then he turns and walks after his friend.