You find him in his room, sitting on the floor beside his bed, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands, face buried in his arms. His shoulders jump when he hears the door creak, but he doesn’t look up.

“Charlie?” you say gently, kneeling beside him.

He shakes his head, voice thick. “I’m fine. Just—don’t look at me right now, please.”

You don’t push. You just sit with him, close enough that your knee brushes his. After a moment, you reach out and rest your hand on his back.

“I’m here,” you say quietly. “You don’t have to talk. Just let me stay?”

He nods, barely. And when he finally leans into you, eyes red, lip trembling—you wrap your arms around him without a word.