Rain drummed against Greenwode's windows in that particular Northwest rhythm that marked Octobers arrival. With it came Yosuke's first real taste of belonging. Everyone, it seemed, had something urgent to teach him.

The basketball team insisted their sport was the only one worth learning ("None of that soccer nonsense!"). The drama club wanted him for Romeo ("Your face is perfect!"). Even the chess club made their pitch, though Yosuke found their board game unnecessarily complicated.

Everyone competed for the privilege of teaching him simple things—how to work the vending machine, why you shouldn't wear socks with sandals, the correct way to fold a paper airplane. Their patience seemed endless, their delight genuine. Perhaps they saw in him a chance to experience their world anew, through eyes that found wonder in everything.

Four weeks in, Yosuke had compiled facts about himself: He loved pizza, especially how cheese stretched into long strings. He did not like cola as much as Fanta—the secret recipe made him question what fruit they were drinking. And he was surprisingly good at algebra, though numbers made more sense than people.

There was a fourth thing, carefully folded away like colorful KitKat wrappers in his desk: the way his stomach flipped whenever Erik ruffled his hair or Leon's fist bumped his shoulder with that warm "You're alright, space cadet."

That nickname followed him like a friendly ghost. After learning humans had walked on the moon, Yosuke decided it must be a compliment. If people could reach the stars, maybe they thought he could too.

September went by in a flash. The cafeteria ladies slipped him extra portions. Teachers learned to wait patiently for his unexpected questions. Even Karin's friends stopped giggling when he asked why anyone would pierce their ears ("Doesn't it hurt? Why make extra holes?").

But Sundays felt different. The dorm's chaos softened as boys clutched phones, voices going gentle with family conversations. Through thin walls, Yosuke caught fragments of their lives before Greenwode—birthday plans, siblings' achievements, promises to call again.

This particular Sunday dawned sharp and clear. Three falcons perched on the roof, dark against autumn sky. Yosuke watched them coolly, phone number clutched in his hand. The paper had gone soft from being folded and unfolded so many times.

Through the wall came clicking controllers and victory music. Erik looked up from his study nest, expensive headphones around his neck. "I need to make a call," Yosuke said. "Private."

Erik barely masked his annoyance. "Now? I just got comfortable." He forced a smile. "Fine. I'll go watch Leon lose at Tekken again."

He gathered his books and tea with practiced efficiency, Fila slides silent on the carpet. At the door, he paused. "Don't take too long, okay? Some of us actually study on Sundays."

The door clicked shut. Someone in the common room shouted "PERFECT!" followed by Leon's creative cursing about button-mashing. Yosuke had seen the gray box under the TV that somehow made tiny people fight each other, but the technology still mystified him.

He sank onto his bed, springs creaking, and carefully copied the numbers from Wilkes's paper. Each button made a satisfying beep. The dial tone hummed, rings echoing across the miles between Greenwode and Seattle where he assumes Wilkes lived.

"Wilkes residence!" a child's voice chirped with exaggerated importance.

"Nurse Wilkes?"

"MOOOM! PHONE!"

Then came the familiar voice, warm and rushed: "Hello? Anne here."

"Anne?" His reflection smiled in the window. "It's me. Yosuke."

"John Smith..." Her voice wavered with something like relief. "You're well?"

"Your name's Anne," he said, watching his breath fog the glass. "I never asked. And you have kids."

In the background, he heard children squabbling while someone - probably Leon - complained about unfair game mechanics. Two kinds of chaos, familiar and strange.

"Is there a world war happening over there?" Wilkes asked.

"They're on the playing station," Yosuke explained, proud to know this much. "Pretending to kill each other with kicks and punches."

"Ah," Wilkes said like this was news. A crash echoed through her end of the line. "Tommy, get your sister's head out of the banister! Sorry - still no new job. How's Greenwode?"

Yosuke pressed his forehead against the cool glass. "There's amazing pizza, and I've seen the ocean! Haven't gone swimming yet, but I'm thinking about it."

"Oh honey, it's almost October!" Her laugh mixed with distant victory music.

"Do you have friends?"

"Several!" He straightened up, chest puffing out slightly. "Two I consider very close. One is extra good to me – he's from Sweden, I think. Very smart."

"Well, that's great to hear. I'm glad you're happy."

Something in her tone made his smile falter. The gaming noise faded to a distant hum as he wrapped the phone cord around his finger. "Yes, me too. So... you know, I haven't had any weird attacks or anything. Oh, and they call me Space Cadet! They think I'll be an astronaut because I'm good with numbers."

The hallway fell silent, as if even the game was holding its breath.

"Oh, honey." Her voice went soft. "That's not what it means."

His finger had gone purple in the cord. "It's not?"

"You remember that thousand-yard stare you used to get? That's what they mean. Like you're floating around in space." She paused. "You should tell them not to call you that. It's... it's not a nice thing to say."

"They're being mean?" He forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to him. "No way."

A distant crash through the phone line, children's voices rising in alarm. The gaming noise swelled again, suddenly too loud, too normal.

"Don't ever hesitate to call," Wilkes said quickly, "but I've got to go – bit of an emergency happening here."

The line went dead. Through the wall, Leon was explaining why Nina's combo system needed nerfing. Erik's exasperated sighs mixed with victory music - the normal Sunday soundtrack of his new life. But something had shifted, like a picture hanging slightly crooked.

The falcons still watched from their perch, heads moving in perfect unison. Yosuke placed the phone back in its cradle with hospital-learned precision, wondering what else in his world wasn't quite what it seemed.

The door opened. Erik stood there in his expensive track pants, travel mug arranged just so. "Please tell me you're done. They're going to wake up the whole floor with this tournament."

"You okay?" he added, settling back onto his bed. "You've got that look again."

"What, like a space cadet?" The words came out sharper than Yosuke intended.

Erik shook his head. "No, like you just figured out the meaning of life and it's a disappointment." He pulled his textbook closer. "I guess the more you learn, the more of that look we'll see. I prefer the space cadet look, actually."

—

The common room smelled of stale Cheetos and teenage sweat. Autumn sunlight couldn't penetrate the blanket tacked over the window "for better screen contrast." Six boys hunched around the TV, faces lit by screen glow, eyes red-rimmed from an all-night session.

Leon sprawled closest, legs tangled in controller cords, wearing yesterday's clothes. Adrian and Calvin flanked him, arguing about frame data while three others offered aggressive coaching. Empty Mountain Dew cans formed a shrine to their dedication.

"You're telegraphing your dragon uppercut!" Calvin pointed with Cheeto-dusted fingers.

"Shut up, I got this!" Leon's tongue stuck out in concentration.

Yosuke watched from the doorway, fascinated by this digital combat ritual. After the seventh round, he cleared his throat.

"Can I try?"

Six bloodshot eyes turned, blinking like owls.

"Oh no," one boy snickered. "The baby wants to join."

The temperature dropped. "What's your name?" Yosuke asked, voice eerily calm.

"Uh, Justin, I'm in your class?"

"Justin. Don't ever call me a baby again. It's not nice." He sat cross-legged by the console. "Now let's play Tekken."

Leon shot Justin a look that clearly said 'you messed up' before demonstrating controls. "X is punch, Circle is kick, hold back to block—"

Yosuke nodded seriously while doing exactly none of them. His character—some pixelated businessman—shuffled back and forth, occasionally throwing single punches with all the grace of a drunken penguin.

One by one, the boys fled. Justin first, muttering about breakfast. Calvin lasted three rounds. Even Adrian couldn't handle watching Yosuke's methodical destruction of fighting game fundamentals.

Erik appeared in the doorway, hair perfectly messed. "Where'd the nerd squad go?" He watched Yosuke's character do another slow walk. "Oh. I see."

"You definitely have your own... style," Leon said, watching his King demolish Yosuke's barely-moving character for the twelfth time.

"Thank you," Yosuke said, still pressing punch randomly. "I think I'm getting better at walking backwards."

Leon patted his shoulder. "Maybe we should get breakfast?"

"One more round," Yosuke said, selecting his character carefully. "I want to try the dragon punch."

Erik's quiet laugh followed Justin's distant footsteps as Leon's head thunked against the couch.

—

The waves crashed against Greenwode's beach like angry fists, dark water churning beneath steel-gray skies. Yosuke stood at the edge, borrowed swimming trunks hanging loose around his narrow hips. Clothes folded neatly next to his dress shoes.

"This is going to be hilarious," Leon called from his perch on a weathered log. "Ten bucks says he screams like a girl."

"Not helping," Erik positioned himself closer to the water. "The current looks strong."

Yosuke crouched, letting one finger graze the surface. He jerked back immediately. "It's colder than the hospital showers."

"That's because it's almost October in the North Pacific," Erik sighed. "We can come back in summer."

"But I need to know," Yosuke said, jaw set. "What if I used to be good at swimming?"

"What if you were a mermaid?" Leon's laugh came out too high. He half-rose, then sat back down, watching Erik take charge.

Yosuke waded deeper, each step careful. The waves pushed against his knees, then his waist. His thin frame shook visibly.

"I think I feel something!" Yosuke turned back, eyes wide behind thick glasses.

"It's just seaweed," Erik said, kicking off his shoes.

"The bottom feels different here. Like it disappears—"

"STOP!" Erik shouted, but too late. Yosuke vanished beneath the dark water, arms flailing.

"Holy shit," Leon stumbled forward, sneakers slipping in sand. His body seemed frozen as Erik dove in with perfect form.

Erik's powerful strokes cut through the waves until he reached Yosuke's thrashing form. He grabbed him around the chest, struggling to keep both their heads above water.

"Stop—fighting—" Erik gasped as Yosuke's elbow caught his ribs. "I've got you!"

They broke the surface together, Yosuke coughing up what seemed like half the ocean. His dark hair plastered to his face, glasses gone, eyes unfocused and huge.

"I guess swimming isn't muscle memory?" Yosuke managed between coughs.

"You think?" Erik hauled them toward shore, movements efficient even as his expensive slacks shredded against rock and sand.

Leon stood frozen for a beat too long.

Not because he didn't care. Because his body hadn't decided what to do fast enough.

By the time he moved, Erik was already there — already stripping off shoes, already bracing, already pulling Yosuke in like this was a scenario he'd run in his head before. Like he'd known, somehow, that this could happen.

Leon hated that.

He snapped out of it when he spotted Yosuke's glasses bobbing in the surf and lunged for them, fingers numb as he scooped them up. Something small and stupid to fix. Something he could actually do.

By the time he reached shore, Erik was lowering Yosuke onto wet sand, hands firm and practiced. Yosuke folded in on himself, shaking violently, skin gone almost translucent beneath the gray sky — all sharp ribs and angles, like a moth you'd pulled out of water too late.

Leon swallowed.

Too thin. Too pale. Too breakable.

"Your dad's going to kill you about those pants," Leon said too loudly, already shrugging off his jacket and draping it around Yosuke's shoulders. His hands shook as he did it, so he made them big and theatrical instead.

Yosuke let out that thin, involuntary keening sound as the jacket settled, fingers tightening in the fabric.

"Next time it's my turn to play hero. Can't let you hog all the dramatic rescues, Captain Wet-pants." He flexed, exaggerated, ridiculous. Baywatch arms. Movie dumbass confidence. Anything but standing still with that image burned behind his eyes: Yosuke disappearing under black water while Leon did nothing.

Yosuke ducked his head, fumbling briefly under the jacket, the sound hitching out of him again as he got himself sorted.

"Plus," Leon barreled on, voice pitching higher, faster, hands shoved into his pockets as he turned half-away, "I've been working on my slow-motion running. Very Baywatch."

"I don't understand that reference," Yosuke said, teeth chattering hard enough to click.

Erik stepped in without comment, holding out dry clothes. "And we're keeping it that way," he said, already buttoning his own shirt. Too fast. Too automatic. Like this wasn't his first emergency.

Fabric replaced cold. Yosuke's breathing steadied as he dressed, the keening finally tapering off into a shaky exhale.

"Let's get you somewhere warm before you turn into an icicle. We still haven't taken you to see the Mammoth."

Yosuke's eyebrows rose in awe behind the foggy glasses. "No way! They are extinct, unless there's a super rad museum no ones told me about?"

"Clothing store, nerd." Leon slung an arm around his shoulders, casual again, protective without saying so. "Oh man, you are not ready for Tibe. This is gonna be even better than the swimming thing."

He glanced back at the dark waves as they walked, remembering how helpless he'd felt watching Yosuke disappear beneath them. Next time would be different. Next time he wouldn't freeze up. Next time he'd be the one diving in to save him.