At twelve, Connor is quiet, isolated, and hungry for connection. When a photographer at his wrestling practice calls him a little model, Connor flushes. In the locker room after, a teammate echoes the words as a taunt. Connor sits alone until a notification lights up his phone. That night, he calls back, walks to the bathroom, and closes the door. The light goes out of his eyes.

Ten years later, Connor is twenty-one, moving through the eight nights of Hanukkah in a blur of strangers, chasing closeness that evaporates the moment it arrives. His father Gregg reaches across every distance he can find, waiting up on the couch, pushing when Connor pulls away. Connor snaps. Gregg looks at him and asks what happened to his happy boy.

On the eighth night, Connor meets Seamus, a man in his late fifties. They lower a Murphy bed together and lie down. Connor reaches for him, but Seamus takes his hand and holds it still. He talks about being a boy no one knew, about not wanting to be alone. Connor's eyes land on a framed photo of Seamus as a little boy, and he hears his own history. He leaves. He walks home crying. When he opens the door, it is twelve-year-old Connor who walks in: smaller, wearing the same sweater, face finally bare. Gregg wakes up on the couch and sees his son. The camera closes in until there is nothing left but the boy's face.