You’re good at pretending.

Smiling at the right moments. Laughing when it’s expected. Acting normal enough that people stop asking questions.

Fez notices anyway.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He rarely does. He just watches—the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, the way you go quiet when things get too loud, the way your leg bounces when you think no one’s paying attention.

You’re sitting on the couch, phone in your hand, scrolling without really seeing anything. Fez is across the room, pretending to focus on the TV.

“You ain’t okay,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still forward. “Just sayin’.”

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically.

Fez finally looks at you then. Not accusing. Not annoyed. Just calm. Certain.

“You always say that,” he says. “But you ain’t been hummin’ today.”

That catches you off guard.

“I… what?”

“You hum when you’re okay,” he explains. “Real quiet. Don’t think you notice.”

You stare at him. “You pay attention to that?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

The room goes quiet again. This time, it’s heavier.

“You don’t gotta tell me everything,” Fez adds. “But you don’t gotta pretend with me either.”

Your chest tightens. You hadn’t realized how tired you were of holding it together until he said that.