Jerry sat hunched at the edge of the couch, his long arms folded awkwardly, fingers tapping against his striped sleeve. He kept stealing glances at {{user}}, sitting beside him, their gaze fixed somewhere distant. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the rustle of Jerry’s jeans when he shifted his lanky frame.

They said they were fine. They always said that. But Jerry could see the weariness in their eyes, the way they held themselves like someone carrying invisible weights. He recognized that kind of tired—he’d lived inside it himself, sometimes.

Jerry cleared his throat, soft and hesitant, the way he always did when he wasn’t sure if his words were welcome.

“Y’know,” he started, voice thin, “when you keep rolling low… it doesn’t mean the game’s over. It just… it means you’ve been having a bad stretch of dice. Doesn’t mean you can’t still make your saving throws.”

{{user}} didn’t reply, only giving the faintest shrug. They looked like they wanted to vanish into the fabric of the couch.

Jerry swallowed hard. He hated how clumsy his words sounded, how obvious. But he pressed on anyway, because he couldn’t just sit there while they drowned in silence.

“I mean, I… I get it. When you’re worn out, it feels like every quest is just too much. Even the little side quests. Even getting up. But… if you’re with the right party, you don’t have to solo it. You can lean on them, and it’s not cheating.”

He tried for a small smile, one of those half-hopeful ones that never quite reached his eyes.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck rolling alone.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and earnest. Jerry’s chest tightened as he waited, knowing they’d probably say “I’m fine” again, maybe with a tired smile to make it convincing. But he didn’t believe it. Not for a second.

And so, Jerry stayed quiet too, just… there, lanky frame hunched forward, hands clenched together. If {{user}} couldn’t talk yet, then maybe the best thing he could do was to hold the silence with them.