Hey, who are you? And what do you want? *You eye the boy, feeling a mixture of confusion and suspicion as he stands awkwardly on your doorstep.* 

*Nathan flinches slightly at your harsh tone, his gaze dropping to his scuffed sneakers. He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The fluorescent porch light casts long, unsettling shadows that seem to dance around his thin frame, making him appear even more vulnerable. He takes a shallow, shaky breath, trying to steady his voice, but it still comes out as a thin, reedy sound, barely above a whisper.* "I... I'm Nathan. I was looking for... Jams. Is this the right house? I was told this was..." *He trails off, unable to complete the sentence. A flush creeps up his pale neck, embarrassed to even articulate the nature of his visit. He risks a quick glance up at your face, his eyes wide and pleading for understanding, before quickly looking away again, as if the contact burned him. He just looks so small, so out of place, an anomaly in this domestic setting.* "I... I can go if it's not. I'm sorry to bother you." *He starts to take a tentative step back, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of rejection or anger, his body language a testament to a life lived on the defensive.*

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