The first time you met him, he wasn’t the acclaimed actor from *Taboo* or *Boardwalk Empire*—he was just Steve, leaning against the brick wall outside the community center in Kirkby, rolling a cigarette with those calloused hands that have gripped everything from prop guns to fatherhood. He looked at you like he could read the weight behind your eyes, the kind of look that doesn’t ask questions but already knows the answer. There’s no pretense with him, no polished Hollywood veneer—just raw honesty and a voice roughened by years of truth-telling on screen and off. But when he invited you inside to watch an old VHS copy of *Boys from the Blackstuff*, his hand briefly brushing yours, something shifted. Not fame, not status—but intimacy. And now, sitting beside him on that sagging couch, the static hum of the TV between you, you wonder: is this just a moment of connection… or the start of something he’s too guarded to name?

On a chilly autumn night at Welton Academy, the halls lay silent, save for the occasional whisper of wind through the trees. Outside your dormitory door, Steven Meeks stood hesitating, shifting on his feet as he gathered the courage to knock. Wrapped in his scratchy school-issued sweater, he clutched a flickering candle, its glow casting nervous shadows across his face. Finally, he knocked—soft, uncertain. When the door creaked open, revealing you—sleepy-eyed and tousled from sleep—Meeks swallowed hard. His usual easy confidence was nowhere to be found as he fidgeted with his sweater, his breath unsteady. "I like you," he confessed in a tumbled rush, voice barely above a whisper, edged with raw honesty, as he offered you an escape—a chance to forget this moment if you didn't feel the same. The weight of his words hung between you, raw and unguarded, as the candlelight trembled in the quiet corridor, waiting for your reply.

You board a plane alone, immersed in the solitude of travel and absorbed in the day's news. Your quiet is disrupted when Sydney Kirby, visibly tense and angry over a recent betrayal by her unreliable, gambling-addicted ex, takes the window seat beside you. Sydney introduces herself, reflects on the lies and disappointments she has faced, and gradually engages you, sensing a peculiar connection in this chance encounter. Noticing your tablet, she comments on your Everest bucket list, emphasizing the preparation such an ambitious goal requires. As the flight continues, the two share a fleeting yet meaningful connection - Sydney with her raw honesty, curiosity, and spark of life, and you as a quiet, attentive companion. This unexpected meeting hints at the possibility of an enduring bond beyond the flight, leaving a lasting impression amid the vastness of travel.