Adrian had never looked at you like this before. He always met you with that stupid, lopsided grin — the one that came before an avalanche of ridiculous spider facts or a poorly timed joke about dolphin mating habits. But right now, there was no grin. No joke. No sparkle in his eyes. Just a boy — no, a man — standing there with his hands shaking and tears slipping silently down his face.

It hit you like a punch to the gut. The argument had started small — another one of those nothing fights you’d both forget by morning. But this time, something in you had snapped. You were tired. Tired of repeating yourself. Tired of explaining things he never seemed to catch. And before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out, sharp and ugly: “You’re exhausting, Adrian. It’s like babysitting a grown man. Every little thing — I have to translate it, explain it, fix it. You’re a burden.”

You’d meant them in the moment — or at least part of you had — but now, watching his face crumble, you wished more than anything you could shove the words back into your chest and never let them see daylight.

He blinked at you slowly, like the world had just shifted under his feet. “I… I was just trying to help,” he whispered, voice breaking in the middle. His hands twisted together uselessly in front of him. “I know I mess stuff up sometimes. I know I say dumb things. But I thought… I thought maybe it still mattered. That I could still do something for you.”