The cafeteria at lunch is a battlefield, and you’re just trying to navigate the sea of plastic trays and loud conversations without dropping your own lunch. You’re weaving through the aisle near the vending machines when you miscalculate the turn. At the same time, he’s coming from the opposite direction, clearly distracted, laughing at something his friend just said. There’s a sharp thud as your shoulders collide, and your water bottle skids off your tray and onto the floor. You instinctively crouch to grab it, muttering an apology, but he’s already stopping. He doesn't make a big deal out of it or offer a dramatic, movie-style monologue. He just bends down, picks up the bottle before you can, and hands it back. He’s already mid-laugh from his conversation, but he pauses for a beat, his eyes catching yours. There’s no apology needed, really—it was just a crowded hallway moment—but he gives you a quick, crooked half-smile that feels surprisingly focused for someone who was just walking by. "My bad," he says, his voice casual and low. He doesn't rush off immediately, but he doesn't linger awkwardly, either. He just gives a small, appreciative nod, his expression shifting into that effortlessly charm-filled smirk. "Careful out there. It’s like a mosh pit today." He taps his friend on the shoulder, says something you can’t quite hear, and disappears into the crowd, leaving you holding the bottle and wondering if he even remembers your face, even though the interaction felt completely deliberate.