At first, Leah doesn’t understand why Samuel Fernandez doesn’t dare to look her in the eye the weekend after the party. It’s Saturday morning – the hangover must have dissipated by now into a hazy memory.

Michelle slides up to her as she effortlessly makes an espresso, her practiced hands almost acting independently of the girl. “What’s up with Sam?” His face lights up jovially when conversing with customers, but the moment they turn he slips into deep despair. His hair is rather unkempt and dark circles grace weary eyes. Even his cheery name tag is strangely lopsided.

He wouldn’t look at her.

“I… don't know.” Michelle cocks an eyebrow incredulously. “He’s been acting weird since the party.”

“Oh, I was meaning to ask you about that! How did that go?”

Leah breaks her gaze and looks out the large window.

“Well, we got there, Will and I were talking with some of our friends, and someone was drinking with him,” mumbles Leah.

Michelle jumps back. “Wait, our little child drinks?”

“Well, I guess.” Leah crosses her arms while Sam slips an order into her hands without sparing a single, somber glance. “He drank until he was at the point of vomiting when Will found him.”

“Will.” Michelle bites her lip. “Weren’t you supposed to look after him?”

“Michelle, he’s not a kid.” Michelle stares at her in silence before choking out a pained laugh. “What?”

“It’s his first time in a highly volatile environment with the possibility of being affected by negative influences without any sort of moderation.” Leah presses her lips into a thin line – she’d almost forgotten that the tall, blue-haired girl had found solace deep within psychology textbooks. “And the type of parental guidance to stop him from doing such actions was nonexistent. An ethical dilemma.”

“Michelle, shut up.” The gleam in her eyes vanishes, like a candle blown out by a fierce gust of wind.

“If it isn’t your fault, why don’t you ask the kid yourself about what’s wrong?” asks Michelle. She plucks the order from her fingers, almost crumpling the paper as Leah stays silent. Amir hovers around Sam, his gentle, lilting voice not making an indent in his impenetrable mind.

Leah takes a breath, signaling to Amir. He strides over, deeply worried, and Leah stands on the tips of her toes, whispering something into his ear. He nods, tapping Sam’s shoulders. After a few words, his tense shoulders lower and he nods.

It’s a silent walk to the small staff room.

Sam’s face is emotionless, like a general returning from a war. His eyes are drained, but his hands tremble at his sides before he folds them across his chest.

“Yes?” rasps Sam.

Why did she ask for him? A flicker of shame flashes across her face. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you.” He can’t hold his gaze, looking to the ajar door behind him.

“I’m…sorry I ditched you at the party.”

“Don’t be. I’m not someone that needs to be babysat.” His hoarse voice is a chorus of lies, reverberating through her soul and echoing through her mind. “I can’t ruin your fun, right? Your boyfriend saved me anyways.” He chuckles bitterly to himself.

“Why would you drink so much?”

“I…”

His hands tremble more than before. As he trudges back to the forefront of the café, she sees a tear well up in the corner of his suddenly regretful, dark eyes, one which is swiftly blinked back.

He's gone.