Change doesn’t happen all at once.

Fez knows that. You do too.

That’s why neither of you pretends everything’s suddenly okay.

You meet Fez on the porch one afternoon, both of you sitting side by side, not really talking. The neighborhood hums around you—cars passing, someone yelling in the distance—but it feels distant, like the world’s giving you a little space.

“I’m tryin’ to do better,” Fez says after a while. Not proud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

You nod. “Me too.”

That’s how it always is between you—no pressure to explain everything. You both know the past is heavy. Mistakes were made. Choices you wish you could rewind.

But you can’t.

So instead, you sit there, sharing quiet progress.

Fez starts doing small things differently. Saying no when he should. Thinking before reacting. Looking tired sometimes, but determined. You see it—the effort he doesn’t talk about.

You’re doing the same. Trying to unlearn habits that kept you stuck. Asking for help when it feels uncomfortable. Letting yourself believe you deserve more than survival.

One night, you’re inside his place, music low, lights soft. Ash is asleep in the other room. Fez hands you a glass of water, sits across from you.

“I ain’t perfect,” he says. “I probably never will be.”

You smile faintly. “Good. Neither am I.”

He looks at you for a long second. “But I feel like… when you’re here, it’s easier to keep goin’ the right way.”