The cafeteria was loud in the way it always was at midday, voices overlapping into a low hum that never quite faded, trays clattering, chairs scraping across the floor. The smell of fries and reheated pasta clung to the air, heavy enough to make me wrinkle my nose as I pushed the food around on my plate.
Taylor sat across from me, his fork balanced between his fingers, untouched. I caught him glancing at me once, twice, his brows drawn together like he was about to say something.
“You’re not eating either,” I said quietly, nudging the limp fries on my tray into a messy pile.
He gave a half-shrug, his eyes flicking away. “Not hungry.”
I wanted to push, to ask if he’d slept last night, if the shadows under his eyes were from more than just bad cafeteria lighting. But the words felt too h
