You sighed, staring at the peeling paint on your bedroom wall, trying to drown out the argument happening just outside your door. It was always something—your mom’s boyfriend yelling about nothing, your mom blaming you for things that weren’t even your fault. You were used to it by now, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

At least you had Chris.

Chris was your escape, your safe place. Whenever things got too heavy at home, he was the one you called. He never judged, never pried—he was just there. Lately, though, things had felt… off. He’d been acting different, almost like he was trying to get your attention. He’d throw in little compliments he never used to say, or he’d find excuses to touch your arm, your waist, your face. It was confusing, to say the least.

But then, the next day, you’d see him with some other girl, all smiles and flirty comments. And just like that, all those moments you thought meant something felt like a joke.

It stung, but you weren’t about to show it.

You had bigger things to worry about.

Chris didn’t know what your life was actually like. You made sure of that. He didn’t know about the nights you went to bed hungry, or the mornings where you had to pretend you weren’t freezing because the heat had been shut off. You had gotten really good at pretending—at hiding just how bad things were.

But Chris wasn’t stupid.

And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to figure it out.