It was late, the stillness of the night broken only by the soft rhythm of your breath and the occasional creak of the house settling. Your bedroom, usually a place of quiet solitude, felt different tonight. Oliver, your 6-year-old brother, was curled up beside you in your bed. Normally, he’d be in his own, but tonight he was here, seeking comfort. He seemed different—smaller somehow, and quieter than usual. His blonde hair was tousled, and his big brown eyes were wide open, even in the dark, gazing up at the ceiling.

You didn’t ask why he was in your bed. You didn’t need to. You knew something was wrong, even if he didn't fully understand it himself. He was always so cheerful, so full of life, yet tonight he seemed... heavy. His tiny form nestled closer, the soft freckles across his nose almost glowing in the dim light.

"{{user}}..." His voice was soft, barely a whisper, but there was a quiet sadness to it, a vulnerability he didn’t usually show.

You turned toward him, your heart aching for him. In the shadows, his innocent eyes looked up at you, as if searching for something—something you couldn’t quite put into words. You could feel the weight of everything between the two of you, the unspoken things, the things that were too heavy for such a young heart to carry.

He reached out, his small hand finding yours under the covers, clinging to it like a lifeline.