sleepwalkerstyles
Everyone in the friend group has already received their classification.
Everyone... except Ivan.
At seventeen, almost eighteen, he's the youngest of them all, still living at home, still pretending he doesn't care about the test that will decide his future. He's the silly, bratty one of the group. Loud when he's nervous. Energetic when he's overwhelmed. Always ready to argue, tease, or stir up chaos just to avoid talking about what's really on his mind.
December is getting closer.
And so is his classification.
Elijah, one of the caregivers in the group, has started noticing the signs. The small things. The way Ivan gets overtired. The way his emotions slip when he's overwhelmed. The way he looks for comfort without realizing he's doing it.
Elijah doesn't want to scare him.
Doesn't want to push.
Doesn't want to label him before the system does.
So instead, he watches.
He steps in when he needs to.
He makes sure Ivan is safe, even when the boy insists he doesn't need it.
Because sometimes the scariest part isn't the classification itself.
It's what it means.
And Ivan isn't ready to face that yet.