(Written in 2023. Canon!)

The year was 1995.

It was cold outside. Todd's hands already begun to grow stiff in the frigid weather. The teenager jammed them into his pockets, fully aware it would do nothing for him. Everything bit in the cold. Even his nose bit, but... then again, it always chilled easily in open air.

He stood there in the cold, waiting for Angelica's boyfriend, Chip, to pick him up from theatre practice.

Todd liked when he was the one who picked him up from theatre practice. There weren't ever any arguments. No smell of smoke emanating from the leather seats, no cutting words from his mother. Soft noise would play from the radio, turned down low as a gesture.

A distant Jeep pulled up to the curb, tires crackling over the washed-out pavement. There he was. Todd was greeted as he opened the door and stepped inside. "How was school?"

"It was fine."

Chip laughed. "You don't sound like it was fine."

Todd buckled himself into the seat and drew out a long sigh. "I think everyone I know is dumb. It's like no one realizes that time is evanescent, none of this will last. They're all so caught up within their own petulant dramas. They're going to be left hoping for days where they squandered their highest potential, and that's when they'll be the most alone."

"Did you get into a fight with your friends?" Chip asked, somehow knowing what Todd was actually upset about.

"They aren't my friends," Todd crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "They're people I happen to know and dislike."

Chip nodded sympathetically. "I understand that. Did you get into an argument?"

Todd's shoulders lowered. "A little. They didn't want me sitting at the lunch table with them, but I only wanted to because Candi was there." His voice muted into a tremble. "But Candi is still mad at me... 'cause I didn't go to her game. It's not my fault Mother won't let me."

"I'm sorry, Todd. What did you do?"

"I threw my lunch away and sat by the gym bleachers. I wasn't going to eat alone. I'm not a loser, and I'm not going to look like one for anyone."

"So, you didn't eat lunch? Do you want to stop somewhere?" The traffic light turned red, giving Chip the opportunity to meet his face. Todd's stomach lurched at the way his eyebrows knit in concern.

That man was truly the opposite of his sister. He was kind. He was rough along the edges. He had his blonde hair slicked back rough, imperfect, no gel. He let his beard have scruff, his black jeans ripped at the jeans. The only thing careful about him was the words he used.

Nothing like her.

"Is McDonalds okay? I see it up the road over there." Chip asked, pointing upwards in the blue sky. That universal "M".

Todd sniffed, and mumbled a "yes." Chip tapped the turn-wheel switch up in reply, taking the next turn-lane over.

Todd was nothing like him. He had long fingers. His mother's hands, but weaker. Fragile. Ceramic. Those willowy fingers now twisted into each other, writhing as they sat stationary in the drive-through. "Thank you."

Chip spoke into the intercom, ordering for Todd before he could say a word. Todd startled at first, opening his mouth to interject, but closed it when it was exactly what he was going to say. He remembered. Somehow in the depths of time and memory, that string of words stayed with Chip. And the memory of that line made Todd's throat feel tight. He cared to remember.

Chip pulled into a parking space, handed him the paper sack, and gestured toward it indistinctly. "Check it before we go."

Todd stared into the sloppily-made cheeseburger, and saw kindness. "You're the best person I know."

Every word burned Todd's face deeper, and his chest grew tight. Like he committed a crime. Why was it a crime? The heat began to run his nose, so he discretely pulled a napkin from the glove compartment. If only he didn't have to seem so pathetic.

Why did his heart feel like this? In his sister's nice very cool boyfriend's nice Jeep that is so clean but also ever so rugged like the beautiful dark stone washed over the mellifluous creek glittering in the sun? It had to be embarrassment.

That embarrassment multiplied when Chip replied, "I appreciate that, Todd. I think you're a cool guy too."

Oh, God. Is he sweating? He's sweating. May Todd shrivel into a raisin and die. He placed the napkin onto his lap and pulled on his hat until his vision was obscured. "T-thanks."

A hand nudged at his shoulder, and he palmed his hat up to see the blonde man looking at him in worry. "Are you okay? Is the sandwich wrong?"

He nodded, sniffing again. "It's good. Um, my nose's just a little runny."

"You shouldn't use your hat as a tissue, Todd." Chip smiled at him. "It'll mess your hair up."