I blink once. Twice. “Hi.”
He nods at the menu board like he’s been studying it too. “This place always this insane?”
“Only when students are awake,” I say, because sarcasm is my default when my brain is overloaded.
Grayson exhales a quiet laugh. “So, always.”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Silence stretches between us. Not awkward. Not comfortable. Just…space. And I don’t know what to do with space when someone is looking at me. Grayson doesn’t rush to fill it. He just stands there with his coffee like he’s deciding something.
Then he asks, “How’s your day going?”
The question is normal. Casual. Friendly.
Still, my stomach tightens. Because if I answer honestly, it’s a lot. It’s too much. It’s not just classes and majors. It’s my brain and my history and the way every dining hall feels like a test. But if I answer like a normal person, it’s fine. It’s good. I’m adjusting. I’m thriving.
I pick the middle.
“It’s loud,” I say.
Grayson’s eyes soften, like he understands that answer more than he should. “Yeah. Tuesdays can be…a lot.”
I don’t know what to do with the understanding, so I change the subject.
“Do you ever get tired of people?”
“Yeah,” he says immediately. No hesitation.
Relief hits my chest like a warm drop.
“Good,” I mutter. “Because sometimes I feel like everyone is aggressively social.”
Grayson glances around the crowded shop. “Aggressively is the right word.”
I look at him for a second longer than I mean to. He’s calm in a way that doesn’t feel fake. Like he isn’t performing for the room.
My shoulders drop without permission.
“Your coffee order,” I say, because my brain needs a safe topic, “is that your usual?”
He lifts the cup like it’s evidence. “Yeah.”
“What is it?”
He hesitates like he’s embarrassed. “Vanilla latte.”
I blink. “That’s not embarrassing.”
He snorts. “Tell that to my teammates.”
“Your teammates would make fun of you for breathing,” I say. “Especially Weston.”
Grayson’s grin flashes quickly. “True.”
The barista calls out a name, and someone yells, “That’s me!” like they won something.
Grayson shifts, glancing toward the door again. “I should go.”
