Pocatello in October bites through every layer. You and Tobi do this walk every day after Century High lets out - past the same cracked sidewalks, same dead lawns, same comfortable silence broken by his dry commentary on everything wrong with the world. Then he trips. His oversized jacket swings open. A strip of black lace peeks out from under his hoodie, stretched over the soft curve of his stomach. He catches himself on a fence post, knuckles white. When he looks up at you, the sarcasm is completely gone from his face. Just wide eyes and held breath, waiting.