Chapter 1 :: We Don’t Talk About That
Welcome Week Scene: The First Day at College – The Social Gauntlet
Setting: The first official event of the year — a Welcome Week mixer in the campus student union. The space is bustling with new students, each of them trying to strike the right balance between appearing confident and pretending they know what’s going on. The air is filled with forced laughter, awkward introductions, and the faint hum of music in the background.
Lucas, Noah, and Jen have arrived at the same time — though it’s unclear whether they showed up together on purpose or simply collided by coincidence. Despite all the noise around them, they feel like they’re in their own separate worlds.
Lucas Rivera: The Quiet One in the Background
Lucas stands near the drinks table, leaning casually against a wall. His dark brown, wavy hair falls into his eyes, and his hazel eyes are scanning the crowd, lingering on faces but never really locking onto anyone’s for long. He’s wearing a soft maroon shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, with the faintest ink stains on his fingers from a journal he probably carried with him. His black cord bracelet, made by Noah, is the only thing that seems to anchor him to something familiar.
Despite the noise around him, he feels… a little out of place. Not that he minds. He’s used to staying quiet, to being the one who stays in the background. But as he watches the others, especially Jen and Noah, he can’t help but feel the weight of things unsaid.
Noah Reyes: The Class Clown with a Broken Heart
Noah walks into the room with his usual swagger, a bit of extra bounce in his step as if he’s trying to outpace his thoughts. His thick black hair is messy in the way that makes it look intentionally tousled, and his amber-brown eyes are scanning the room like he’s trying to find someone to entertain. His graphic tee and flannel jacket stand out amid the crowd of less flamboyant students. Even in this sea of new faces, he can’t help but take up space — both physically and emotionally.
When he spots Lucas, he grins and makes his way over, two plastic cups of punch in hand.
Noah (smiling, handing Lucas a cup):
“Hey, man. I got you something that’s probably too sweet for your taste. But I’m guessing you forgot about eating lunch again.”
Lucas (smiling softly):
“Thanks, but I don’t think this’ll be much better than a sandwich.”
Noah (laughing, leaning against the table beside him):
“Yeah, well, you might be right. But it’s got a good enough vibe for now.”
(He takes a long gulp, his eyes scanning the crowd.)
“You sure you don’t want to actually join in? They’re doing this whole ‘icebreaker’ thing over there.”
(He gestures vaguely to a group of students attempting to participate in an awkward game.)
Lucas (shaking his head, amused):
“Pass. I’m good over here.”
Noah grins, half-pouting, but respects Lucas’s space. He knows how Lucas is — steady, grounded, like the kind of person who’d always stay when others left. Even if Lucas doesn’t smile much these days.
Jen Park: The Unreachable One
In the corner of the room, Jen stands alone. He’s leaned against a pillar, earbuds in, but not listening to music. His eyes are distant, scanning the crowd like he’s analyzing everyone around him. His black hoodie and dark clothes give him a uniform that’s both invisible and eye-catching. His pale olive skin, with the grey-blue shadows under his eyes, hints at sleepless nights, though no one really asks about them.
His sharp gaze flicks over Lucas and Noah, but he doesn’t approach them. Instead, he folds his arms tightly across his chest, watching the social chaos unfold. There’s a faint smudge of graphite on his hands, like he’s been drawing and couldn’t be bothered to clean up.
Lucas (noticing Jen from across the room):
“Jen’s over there.”
(His voice is soft, more to himself than to Noah.)
Noah (glancing at Jen, then smirking):
“Yep. Same as always. Not exactly making new friends, huh?”
(His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying sadness behind the joke.)
Lucas (quietly):
“He’s just… in his own world.”
Noah watches Jen, the way he’s removed from everyone else, his presence still felt even though he’s miles away. Noah knows better than to call him out on it. Jen’s always been this way — detached, like he’s waiting for something to happen that never does.
Noah (with a half-laugh):
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s waiting for us to come rescue him from his personal hell.”
Lucas looks at Jen again, and for a second, his expression softens. Noah notices this and gives him a sideways glance.
Noah:
“You ever wonder why we all keep doing this? Trying to get him to talk? I mean, he’s always been a ghost. I’m starting to think maybe we’re chasing after something that’s not even there anymore.”
Lucas:
“Maybe. But I don’t think he’s gone. Not yet.”
The Unspoken Connection
After a few moments of awkward silence, Noah pushes away from the table, suddenly full of energy again.
Noah (teasing):
“I’m heading over there to save Jen from his own misery. Want to join?”
Lucas (shrugging):
“Sure. But don’t expect miracles.”
They walk over to where Jen is standing. Noah slaps him lightly on the back, grinning as usual. Jen looks up, eyes unreadable but calm. For a moment, they stand there together, just the three of them in this strange, noisy room. It’s nothing special, but in this moment, it feels like enough. Jen doesn’t leave, even if he doesn’t smile.
Noah (grinning, hands in his pockets):
“Alright, Jen. The party’s here. You gonna stand in the corner forever, or are you gonna show us what’s in that sketchbook of yours?”
Jen (glancing at them, a faint, ghostly smile tugging at his lips):
“I’ll pass.”
The night carries on, and the three of them, in their own ways, navigate the chaos of Welcome Week. Noah is still the life of the party — funny and loud, but with something darker simmering underneath. Lucas is the steady one, offering the quiet support Noah needs, even when he doesn’t ask. And Jen? He’s the ghost, the one who stays, the one you feel even when he’s not saying a word.
Final Image
They stand together, in the middle of the party that isn’t really a party for any of them. There’s a strange sense of familiarity in the air, but it’s also fraying at the edges. The distance between them feels real, but for a moment, just one, it’s like nothing has changed.
And maybe that’s enough.
As the evening continues, the noise of the room around them starts to fade into the background. For a moment, it’s just the three of them in their own world — Lucas, Jen, and Noah. The awkwardness between them lingers like a shadow, but Noah can’t let it stay there any longer. He looks at Jen, his expression shifting from his usual playful grin to something a bit more serious, a bit more worn.
Noah (looking at Jen, his voice softer than usual):
“Hey, Jen… I’ve been meaning to say something.”
Jen doesn’t respond immediately. He keeps his arms folded across his chest, staring at the crowd. He’s heard Noah’s apologies before, but they’ve always come with a certain… performance. A joke, a distraction. But this time feels different. There’s something raw in Noah’s voice, something that cuts through the usual mask of jokes and bravado.
Lucas watches the two of them carefully, sensing the shift but saying nothing. He knows that whatever comes next between Noah and Jen, it’s not something he can fix. Not tonight, anyway.
Noah (taking a breath, glancing at Lucas before turning back to Jen):
“I, uh… I know it’s been a while. A year, actually. And I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I need to say it.”
Jen glances at Noah for the briefest second, his expression unreadable as always. He says nothing, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes — curiosity, maybe, or just the weight of what’s been left unsaid for so long.
Noah (voice dropping, more serious now):
“I’m sorry, Jen. I… I screwed up. And I know we’ve both been pretending, pretending things are fine when they’re not. I guess I didn’t really know how to fix it. Hell, I didn’t even know if I could fix it.”
He pauses for a moment, and even though Jen isn’t giving him much — just that still, quiet presence — Noah presses on. This feels like the right time. He feels it, deep in his chest. The need for closure, for acknowledgment.
Noah (continuing, more quietly):
“I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. And it wasn’t just that… it’s everything, you know? I was too focused on… on everything else to actually see you. To see what was going on with you. And I’m sorry for that. I just — I’m sorry for not being the friend I should’ve been.”
There’s a heavy pause. Noah swallows, looking at Jen with an intensity that feels rare. Jen remains still, his eyes distant, but there’s something softer in the way he holds himself, as if he’s listening, maybe for the first time in a long while. But he still doesn’t speak.
Noah (with a dry laugh, trying to ease the tension, but still serious):
“Hell, it’s been a year, man. One year. A whole damn year since everything got… weird. And I know I can’t take it back. I just… I want you to know that I’m sorry. I don’t want to keep pretending like I didn’t screw this up.”
Jen finally speaks, though it’s almost more of a breath than words. It’s not that he’s forgiving Noah right away — it’s more like he’s accepting the weight of the apology without the rush of an answer.
Jen (almost in a whisper):
“Yeah. I know.”
The words hang between them, simple but heavy. There’s no immediate reconciliation. No big emotional outpouring. Jen doesn’t step forward and hug Noah. He doesn’t smile. But he’s not walking away, either. For Jen, maybe this is enough for now. Maybe just hearing Noah admit his faults is enough to start to heal something that’s been broken for so long.
Noah (nodding slowly, as if the weight of it is finally settling in):
“Okay… well, I guess that’s all I needed to say.”
He looks down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as if the apology is a physical burden. It’s strange to him — saying the words out loud feels like part of him is finally acknowledging the hurt that’s been floating in the air between them. He wants so much to make it better, but for once, he doesn’t push it. This time, he just lets it be.
Lucas (quietly, but with that grounding tone that always feels like a reminder):
“We’re still here, right?”
The question isn’t directed at anyone specifically, but both Noah and Jen hear it. It’s the quiet assurance Lucas gives without needing a big explanation — the way he’s always been the steady one, even when everything else is uncertain.
Jen (softly, but just enough for them to hear):
“Yeah. We’re still here.”
There’s no dramatic hug. No words that suddenly make everything okay. But there’s something in the way Jen says it, as if he’s not so sure of the future, but in this small moment, he’s choosing to stay. To stay present in the middle of this mess.
Noah (grinning a little, trying to lighten the mood):
“Good. Because I’m not letting you both go anywhere anytime soon.”
They stand there, the three of them, in the middle of the chaotic mixer. The music continues to hum in the background, the crowd moving around them, but it’s as if the noise is distant now. The past year hasn’t been erased with one conversation, but maybe it’s a beginning. A small shift in the dynamic that’s been so fractured for so long.
As the night continues, they don’t fix everything. But for once, maybe that’s enough.
