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"You make it sound so simple," I think, but manage a small nod.

The truth is, 'fine' is a state we're constantly striving for, not one we comfortably live in.

The path to 'fine' is paved with more assignments than one should realistically be able to handle and the looming threat of academic probation if your GPA slips.

Not that mine is in any danger, but the fear is a constant, at least for me.

"So, Realm of the Unknown," Knox says, wiping guacamole from his chin with the back of his hand. "You actually enjoy the grind?”

"There's a certain satisfaction in completing something," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Even if it's virtual. Clear objectives, measurable progress. It's...straightforward." Unlike the rest of life, but that doesn’t need to be said.

Selene smiles as she takes a few chips. "I get that. Sometimes I just want to cook something simple because then I know exactly how it's going to turn out."

Knox looks from her to me, then back to the nachos. "You two and your predictable hobbies. Where's the thrill in knowing the outcome?"

"The thrill is in avoiding a mental breakdown, bro," I say, reaching for another chip. I’m only half kidding.

The bass from upstairs, which had been a dull throb, suddenly intensifies, rattling the cheap light fixture above us. A muffled shout follows, something about "leveling up" or "losing cups," it's hard to tell with Wilder.

Selene glances at the ceiling. "Wilder's really feeling it tonight, huh?"

"He's probably celebrating finishing a sentence of his English paper," Knox grunts. "Or finding a matching pair of socks. Either is a monumental achievement for him."

"Hey now," I say, though I can't entirely disagree.

Wilder's organizational skills, or lack thereof, are legendary.

"He's got...other strengths." Like an uncanny ability to find the best late-night food deals or talk his way out of almost any situation. Not to mention he’s funnier than all of us on his worst day.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Wilder stands framed in the doorway, hair sticking up in several directions, wearing a faded Red Wolves hockey t-shirt, sweatpants, and mismatched socks, confirming that Knox was wrong.

One headphone dangles around his neck, which makes me wonder how the hell we were hearing his music.

"Did someone say my name, or are the nacho gods finally answering my prayers?" Wilder asks, his eyes zeroing in on the plate I'm still working my way through.

"Both," Knox says, gesturing with a chip. "And you're late. Blaise almost ate them all."

"A likely story," Wilder replies, already moving toward the counter. He grabs a spare plate and continues. "Dalton here has the self-control of a monk. Me, on the other hand..." He piles his plate high, cheese and jalapenos tumbling over the sides.

"We know," Selene says, smiling. "You have no self-control when it comes to food."

"Or anything else, really," I add, taking another bite.

Wilder pauses mid-scoop. "I'll have you know I exhibited immense self-control tonight. I didn’t stay out too late and showered before deciding to grace you all with my presence." He shoves a loaded chip into his mouth. "Mmmph. Worth it."

"What profound sacrifice," Knox deadpans.

"Truly," Wilder agrees, his mouth full. He swallows. "Speaking of sacrifices, you guys missed a hell of a party earlier. Some frat house off campus. They had, like, a bouncy castle. Indoors."

My hand stills on its way to my mouth and I stare at him. Thankfully Selene fills in the blank because my brain died.

"A bouncy castle and alcohol?" Selene raises an eyebrow. "Sounds…sticky."

"And potentially a lawsuit," Knox adds. “Coach would have your ass if you got injured.”

"Whatever, doesn’t matter," Wilder says just before he sticks another nacho in his mouth. “Point is, it was epic. You all should've come.”

"We prefer our parties without a side of potential ER visits," Knox says, snagging a chip from Wilder's overflowing plate and Wilder sends a glare his way.

Selene shakes her head. "A bouncy castle, Wilder? Really?"

"Hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it after three beers," Wilder defends, mouth full. "It's…an experience." He winks, grabbing another handful of chips. "Almost as good as these nachos. Almost."

"An experience I'm happy to live vicariously through your questionable life choices, thanks," Knox replies.

Selene pats Knox's arm. "Be nice. At least he came back in one piece."

“And we wouldn’t have these stories where he continues to live up to his name,” I chime in.

Wilder grins, a smear of guacamole at the corner of his mouth. "Exactly. Someone's gotta be the chaos coordinator. It's a vital role." He shovels another chip into his mouth. "Besides, who wants boring stories? 'And then we all sat quietly and did our homework.' Riveting."

I manage a small smile. Wilder's energy is a force of nature, one I've learned to observe from a safe distance. It’s exhausting to even think about living at his frequency, but in small doses, it’s…tolerable. Amusing if you will.

"Some of us appreciate boring," I say, more to myself than anyone else, but Knox catches it.

"Yeah, Blaise here is aiming for a Nobel Prize in Predictability," Knox says. "His idea of a wild night is reorganizing his bookshelf by publication date instead of author."

"Chronological by series is superior for continuity," I state. It’s true. There’s a logic to it that alphabetical order just can’t replicate.

Selene chuckles. "See, Knox? He has his reasons. Don't knock the system."

“Thanks, Selene. I knew I could count on you to be the voice of reason when it comes to these dumb asses. And with that, I should probably head back upstairs and actually start on the paper,” I say as I walk over to the sink to wash my dish.

"Don't let us stop you," Wilder says, mouth still half full. “I’m sure the paper is actually due in, like, two months knowing you, but you gotta do what you gotta do.”

"It's due in two weeks, actually," I correct, washing and rinsing my plate. "Which, according to my watch, is practically tomorrow."

"Dude, relax," Knox says, reaching for the last of the guacamole. "You'll bang it out. You always do."

"Easy for you to say, your brain doesn't short-circuit if the paper isn’t done at least a week early," I mutter, drying my hands. "I like to be prepared cause you never know what could happen. Something you might consider trying sometime." My comment is aimed at Wilder and he knows it.

"Hey, I'm prepared!" Wilder protests, crumbs flying. "I'm prepared for a good time, all the time. It's a different kind of preparedness, but equally valid."

Selene laughs. "You boys. Always competing."

"It's just our way," Knox says, pulling Selene closer. "Everything's a competition. Who can eat the most nachos, who can procrastinate the longest, who can come up with the lamest excuse for not cleaning the bathroom."

"I think Wilder wins that last one consistently and I end up picking up his slack," I say, moving toward the kitchen doorway. "And on that note, I really am going upstairs. Thanks for the nachos."

"Anytime, man," Knox says. "Don't stay up too late stressing over that paper. It's not worth losing sleep over."

Easy for him to say. "Sleep is part of the schedule," I reply, which is true. Eight hours. Non-negotiable if I want to function at practice.

"See? Even his sleep is scheduled," Wilder calls after me, his voice muffled by another mouthful of chips. "The man's a machine!"

I don’t bother responding, instead choosing to take the stairs two at a time to get back to my room faster.

Once I’ve shut myself in my room once more, I glance at my dual monitors.

Realm of the Unknown still idles on one, its landscape peaceful.

The muted streams are still paused. For the paper, I’ll need silence.

Or, at most, the instrumental lo-fi playlist I usually reserve for deep thinking and work.

I queue up the lo-fi playlist, click into the blank document, and stare.

Nothing comes. I do manage to write my name and today’s date, but that’s it.

The game flickers in my peripheral vision, but after I’ve written my heading, it’s the only thing still moving besides my cursor. I should start the paper. I need to start the paper.

Instead, I sit back and exhale slowly before I turn my attention back to my game.

I’ll try again in five minutes.

Maybe ten.