Menlo was a person of habit. Wake up, take medication, go to school, come home, eat dinner, take medication, check schedule for tomorrow, sleep. Rinse and repeat.

Looking back on his childhood he had no idea why such strict habits settled in at such a young age, but he welcomed the advantages of being a naturally organized person. Know what to do, and planning ahead of time put his anxiety at ease.

So it's quite a surprise when his oldest former childhood friend showed up at his doorstep.

While he did his homework at the kitchen table, TJ made himself at home, sprawling out on the living room couch for a nap. He had to make him promise to straighten the pillows afterwards, but Menlo was grateful that he was quiet. The conversation when Menlo opened the door was short and to the point.

"Hey, Menlo. I need a place to hide out for a few hours."

"Okay. . . but why does it have to be at my house, exactly?"

"Because this is the last place they would think to look for me."

Menlo didn't know who 'they' were, but he was pretty sure it wasn't anyone dangerous, and that enough to let TJ in. Besides, he was sure he would just wait until his mother came and she was still convinced the two of them were friends and would invite him in, anyways.

After 30 minutes, it was time for a perfectly scheduled break. He stood from the table and meandered into the living room. TJ still slept, but at least his feet was off the couch. Seeing that his arm was exposed, Menlo got a closer look.

"What?"

Menlo nearly jumped out of his skin. He was too lost in his thoughts to notice TJ looking up at him through sleepy eyes.

"You're still doing this," Menlo said, tracing a few of the extremely faint but still visible cuts on his arms.

"Yep."

"I suppose I don't have to tell you how dangerous this is, again," he said.

"Remember our agreement, Menlo," TJ said. "You don't acknowledge my cutting and I don't acknowledge that bottle of Adderall you keep."

"I remember," Menlo sighed. "That one looks pretty bad, though."

"This one?" TJ pointed to his newest cut, the one he wasn't responsible for. "A kitten gave me this one. It climbed on me, then tried to climb down and scratched me. It hurt like a bitch. I don't cut that deep."

"But you still do," Menlo mumbled.

"You act like I'm trying to off myself," TJ said, turning over. "You know I'm not."

"I know. That doesn't make me feel better about it, however," Menlo said. He returned to his seat at the kitchen table. "As long as I'm not getting a phone call from you out of a mental health institution."

"Noted."

ZZZ

TJ had bad grades.

That was something his parents were used to when he was in elementary school. It wasn't severe enough that he ever needed to stay back a grade or go to summer school, but it was enough that his parents hired tutors for him. Besides, between the things he does at school and his regular speaking for himself in court (seriously there had to be a record somewhere for how often he went to court in the fourth grade), they knew their son wasn't dumb.

But it took the fourth tutor to ask the question if he was dyslexic.

Not only did he have dyslexia, but dyscalculia as well, because school was never meant to be easy for him, apparently.

ZZZ

After erasing what was on his paper for the tenth time, TJ crumpled it up and tossed it in the trash. Whoever decided that chemical formulas should be written like this needed to be punched in the face. The teacher wrote a few on the board for them to work through, and while most students had gotten in groups, TJ stayed by himself, as per usual. It's not like anyone would be there to help him on the test so he might as well figure out on his own.

Working with letters and number alone was hard enough. . .

"If you're having trouble, I can help." Gretchen made her way over from her seat to next to his.

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you're struggling," she said.

"I know what to do, alright?" He said. "I'm fine."

He erased his work again, leaving nothing but what he copied from the board. This wasn't going to work.

"Do you have any graph paper?"

"Yeah, sure." She tore a piece of graph paper from a notebook and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, placing it over his notebook. Just like that, the letters and numbers stayed still and he was able to make heads and tails of it.

"What does it do?" Gretchen asked.

"It keeps everything still so I can read it."

"Keeps everything still?" She asked. "Wait, are you dyslexic?" He nodded. "That explains a lot."

TJ wasn't going to ask what she meant about that. Instead, he focused on getting the work done. Luckily, Gretchen didn't bombard him with questions but she sure as hell was watching him.

"Can you tell the others to let up on the following me schtick? I'm actually busy this weekend and I'd rather not have you guys up my ass," he said as the bell rang. "Thanks."

ZZZ

"TJ, is that you?"

TJ nudged the front door shut and dropped his backpack right next to it. Homework can wait a few hours, at least. Right now he needed food.

"Yeah, it's me, mom," he called out.

"Your medication is on the kitchen table," she said. "Me and your father are going to meet up with some old friends and won't be back until late."

"Okay."

Like his mom said, the familiar white paper bag with his name on it sat on the table. He gave the bag a small shake and heard the pills inside rattle. If he was taking one now he wouldn't be able to eat right away. . .They can wait until later. His stomach was starting to hurt from how hungry he was.