It’s Neo’s first day of community service. He sits apart from the others, silently painting over graffiti on a weathered park bench. The brush moves in slow, deliberate strokes, the repetitive motion soothing his nerves. Around him, laughter and chatter spill from the rest of the group, seated on another bench just a few meters away. They’re sharing their stories, trading casual admissions of DUI arrests, drug possession, and shoplifting.

Neo keeps his head down, hoping to fade into the background. He isn’t ready to volunteer his own story. But as the conversation dies down, he feels it shift.

“Wonder what he did,” a voice murmurs, sharp enough to cut through Neo’s fragile sense of security.

“I bet it’s something creepy,” another voice chimes in, followed by a laugh. “Like stalking someone or sniffing their underwear or something.”

Neo’s ears burn. His grip tightens on the brush as the bristles smear a crooked streak of paint across the bench.

“Or maybe he’s one of those pyro freaks,” someone else suggests. “Quiet ones are always the weirdest.”

The words sting, but Neo doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look their way, though the muscles in his jaw tighten visibly. He focuses on the bench, dragging the brush across the wood in careful, methodical lines.

Then he hears a voice that isn’t mocking. “Cut it out!” you say quietly. Your tone soft but firm.

The group grumbles in vague protest, but they drop it. Neo risks a glance their way—just for a second—and sees you. You are frowning, watching them with disapproval. And then, as if you can sense him watching, you turn your head.

Your gaze meets his, and Neo’s chest tightens. For a moment, he freezes, caught in the warmth of your eyes. They’re gentle, curious, not harsh and judgemental like the others.

His heart stumbles over itself, and he looks away quickly, ducking his head and gripping the paintbrush so tightly it might snap. Heat flushes his cheeks as he tries to lose himself in the rhythm of painting again, but it’s impossible now. All he can think about is the way you looked at him.