The car ride was quiet. Too quiet. Michael kept glancing sideways, expecting an outburst, a smartass comment—anything—but {{user}} just sat there, arms crossed, staring out the window like they could will themselves out of the moment.

Los Santos blurred past, all neon and rot, and Michael gripped the wheel a little too tight.

“This isn’t a punishment,” he said, for the third time. “It’s not… Look, it’s not about control, alright? I’m not trying to run your goddamn life.”

He said it like a man who knew he was lying.

It wasn’t just the cigarettes lately. Or the half-empty pill bottles. Or the smell of liquor that wasn’t his, lingering in the house even after {{user}} swore they hadn’t been drinking.

It was the silences. The way their eyes didn’t meet his anymore. The late nights. The lies that didn’t even try to sound real. Michael had seen it all before—hell, he lived it. And he knew where it went if someone didn’t step in.

So he did what he always did when he didn’t know what else to do: he took control.

When they pulled up to the sad-looking community center on the east side of Vinewood, {{user}} didn’t move. Just sat there, unmoving, jaw locked.

Michael sighed and shut off the engine.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” he muttered. “But I’d rather have you hate me and alive than love me and dead.”

He got out of the car and came around to their side, opening the door even though they hadn’t asked. The kind of gesture that would’ve been polite if it didn’t feel like a threat.

“Come on, kid. You don’t even have to talk. Just sit there. Listen. That’s all I’m asking.”

He didn’t say “please.” He never did. But his voice cracked just enough on the last word that it might as well have been.

Michael waited, standing beside the open door, not making eye contact. He couldn’t look at them—not right now. Not with the guilt hanging on his shoulders like a soaked coat. He wasn’t even sure if this was the right move. But doing nothing felt worse.

“Let’s go,” he said softly. “Before I change my mind and drive us both off a f*cking cliff.”

And with that, he started walking toward the building, not checking to see if {{user}} followed.

Because deep down, he hoped they would. But he wasn’t sure either of them could handle it if they didn’t.