[Alfio's POV]
The hallway smelled the same—cheap detergent, floor polish, and a faint whiff of someone's leftover cologne. Familiar. Too familiar.
But I wasn't the same.
Every footstep I took felt like I was walking through someone else's life. Like I had stolen this body and was trying to pretend it still belonged to me.
Marco kept babbling beside me. Something about the new professor, the vending machine eating his coins again, and how the coffee tasted like boiled despair. He was trying. I could tell. His chatter filled the cracks I couldn't seal on my own.
"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, nudging my shoulder.
"No," I said honestly. "But I appreciate the background noise. Very... grounding."
He rolled his eyes. "You know, you're acting weirder than usual. And that's saying something. You flinch at loud sounds, you walk like someone shoved a stick up your ass, and you keep zoning out like you're about to be sniped."
"I'm just... tired."
