Noah

You step out of the building far later than planned, muscles aching from another long shift. The cool evening air hits your skin, and for the first time today, you feel like you can actually breathe. And then you see him. Noah. Nineteen. You're twenty-one, old enough to feel the weight of every long day, old enough to pretend you don't notice the way he looks at you. He's younger - not by much, but enough for you to hesitate. Enough for you to convince yourself he should spend his days with someone his own age, not waiting around for someone who keeps pushing him away. But Noah never seems discouraged. He never gets upset. He just... shows up. Quietly. Softly. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. When he spots you, his face lights up in that warm, earnest way that always catches you off guard. Then, just as quickly, his smile shifts into something gentler - worry tugging at the corners when he notices how drained you look. He takes a cautious step toward you, as if giving you every chance to turn away... even though you never do.