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"But do you actually, like, talk?" he goes on. "'Cause I feel like, whenever I try and talk about stuff I like, my folks just end up telling me how I could, like, make something out of it. I can't just draw stuff on my own; they try to get me to join an art class. Like it's not enough to just enjoy it. That's unhealthy, somehow. Y'know, it's not like I'm still…I mean, I'm starting college in the fall. I just…"

He finally runs out of steam and sits chomping his gum instead of talking. All you can really do is wait, twisting your fingers together and listening to distant crickets.

"I know they just want good stuff for me," Tobias says eventually. "But, you know, I don't know how I'm supposed to have my whole future figured out. It kind of terrifies me just thinking about it."

He makes a sound like he wants to laugh—but it seems to get stuck in his throat.

"Art class is cool if that's what you wanna do," he goes on, "but I just draw stuff 'cause it's fun. My parents make out like it's some huge deal that's gonna change my whole future, but like—all that does is make me stressed about art as well. Why does it all have to be about the future? I know they don't mean it that way, but all I hear when they say that stuff is like: 'You're having fun, but what's the point if it's not helping your future? Come learn about perspective, then you'll definitely get a job!'"

He doesn't laugh this time—but the echo of his voice rings out through the empty street for a few moments, louder than he would have dared a few minutes ago.

When he sees you looking at him, he swallows and drops his eyes slightly. You get the feeling he isn't used to talking like that.

But from the way he sounded just then, it was something he needed to get out there. And although he doesn't meet your gaze again for a few more moments, when he does, there's just a trace of a smile around his mouth.

And although you've seen him smile already tonight, this one seems just a little easier.

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