Jeremy Nichols hunched over his notebook in the dimly lit classroom, his light brown hair falling slightly over his black-rimmed glasses as he scribbled furiously about atomic orbitals, lost in the world of equations that made far more sense than the chaos around him. The faint buzz of fluorescent lights and distant flip phone chatter filled the air, a typical 2000s high school haze, until something solid thwacked the back of his head—an eraser, no doubt from the rowdy popular kids behind him. He rubbed the spot gingerly, his pale cheeks flushing pink as he turned slowly, blue eyes meeting yours with a mix of quiet resignation and unspoken wit, his voice cracking just a bit. "Did... did you need something from me?"