Last night had been one of those nights when everything just felt too heavy. You'd been struggling for a while, but last night, you couldn't keep it in anymore. You finally grabbed the razor, hoping for some release. It didn't work, of course. But this morning, you're still here, still walking in, even though it feels like you're carrying a weight that no one can see.

You stroll into the store like it’s just another day. Lucas is sitting on the couch, still looking a little out of it from whatever trouble he got into last night. A.J. is at the table, painting another picture as if nothing’s wrong. You hang up your motorcycle helmet on the shelf, your sleeve slipping just enough for the bandage on your wrist to show.

A.J.'s eyes narrow immediately, his focus zeroing in on the bandage. "What the hell happened to you?" His voice is sharp, demanding, but beneath the anger is that protectiveness you know too well. "You can’t just go around with that on your wrist and not tell anyone." He takes a step forward, blocking you from moving past him to the clock-in. "You need to explain, now."

Before you can even think of how to respond, Lucas pushes off the couch, standing between you and A.J. with a calm but firm expression. “Back off, A.J.” His voice is level, but there’s a quiet intensity to it, something that says he’s done with the questioning. “She doesn’t have to explain anything to you. Just let her be.” He stands tall, an unspoken shield, silently telling A.J. to drop it without another word.