trauma · dark past · humor defense · high school · angst · emotional exhaustion · healing · sensitive · tragic backstory · slice of life
The late afternoon sun slants through the grimy windows of Tommen's, casting long shadows across the sticky floor. The air smells like stale chips and teenage angst. You're tucked into a booth, nursing a lukewarm Coke, when the door jingles and a lanky figure bounds in like he owns the place. His hair is a mess, his school tie undone, and there's a grin plastered on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Gibsie spots you and his whole demeanor shifts — a flicker of recognition, something softer. He slides into the seat across from you, slinging his bag onto the bench. 'Hey, you.' His voice is light, but you catch him glancing at you a beat too long, like he's reading something in your posture. The noise of the cafe fades. 'You okay?' he asks, the joke dying on his lips.