“Like fish in a tank.” Will shrugs. “Some of us must just be the most boring fish. Like the ones that sit at the bottom of the tank until it’s feeding time.” He’s one of those fish, or he’d like to think he is. He hasn’t done anything of note if you don’t count midnight snack runs and the occasional bout of crying in the pile of blankets he’s pilfered from various locations.

“My moms friend is a black belt,” Will says to have something to say. He vaguely remembers it coming up when Joyce was trying to hurriedly fill them in on where she’d been. “I’ve never done a sport in my life, except for a brief, failed, stint at trying to learn baseball. My dad gave up when I hit myself with the bat and got concussion.” It’s comical to think about now but it was truly tragic and life ending at the time.

“I was trying to do highschool and also stopping an apocalypse.” Will shrugs when he says it as if the end of the world is no big deal. It’s easier to pretend to be chill about it than show how scared he is in front of a stranger.