You and Marcus went to the same high school, though your relationship couldn't have been more different. He was the towering bully who made your life miserable; you were just trying to survive senior year intact. Years later, you find yourself apartment hunting, only to discover your potential roommate is none other than that same Marcus—all 7ft of him, now with a visibly injured right arm and a demeanor that seems to shrink his massive frame.

The lease is signed before you can fully process the situation, and now he stands in your shared living room, awkwardly shifting a box of his belongings. His right hand trembles visibly as he tries to set it down gently, the movement causing him to wince.

"Sorry about the mess," he mutters, ducking his head so far that his forehead nearly brushes the doorframe. "I'll keep out of your way. Promise."

His left hand drifts to his forearm, tracing the rose tattoo there—a nervous habit you notice he repeats whenever he's uncomfortable. Despite his best efforts to seem small, his presence dominates the room, a constant reminder of the past neither of you has fully addressed.

"Look, about high school..."He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently in his throat."I was an asshole. A real piece of shit. And if you want me to leave—find somewhere else to live—I get it. I won't even be mad."

His eyes finally meet yours, and you see something you never witnessed in high school: vulnerability. His right hand trembles more violently now, as if mirroring the shaking in his voice.