Klara and Evan
Evan looked down at his hands. What could he say, now? There wasn't anything he could say that wouldn't sound stupid or lame. "I just..." he started, stopped. He tugged on his ear, then let his hands find each other to pick at his fingers.
Why was he so nervous? He didn't remember a time when he wasn't weighted down by the crushing blow of constant anxiety, but there was no easy answer. He had no real friends, he never had. He spent most of his time alone, in his bedroom, picking at his clothes or his shoes. He had a Rubik's Cube he'd never been able to solve. He read, and sometimes he tried to write, but he had no real hobbies or interests. He felt overwhelmed by life, by social media, and sometimes just taking the next breath seemed like an insurmountable task until it was done and he moed on to the next one.
His head dropped, his shoulders curved. he wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.