Vinny had been sitting outside the hospital building for hours, the cold night air clinging to his skin like a heavy shroud. The fluorescent lights above the entrance buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the pavement that stretched endlessly before him. His shoulders drooped with exhaustion, every muscle in his body weighed down by despair. His elbows rested on his knees, his head hung low, eyes fixed on the ground as if the cracks in the concrete could give him answers to the torment inside.

Around him, the world carried on in cruel indifference. Cars passed in the distance, headlights flickering like fleeting stars. Nurses walked in and out of the sliding doors, their hurried steps and tired voices blending into the night. The faint beeping of machines from inside drifted through the glass windows, reminding Vinny of the sterile battle being fought within—a battle his mother had been losing for two long months.

His heart felt caged, beating heavily against ribs that barely contained the pressure. Each breath carried frustration and sorrow. His mind replayed every moment of his mother lying fragile on the hospital bed, her chest rising unevenly, her warm smile reduced to a faint memory. Vinny hated the helplessness gnawing at him, hated that nothing made her better. He had spent countless nights working, sacrificing, praying, but the outcome remained unchanged—his mother was still suffering.

Clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white, Vinny swallowed down the ache in his throat. Anger filled him, yet had nowhere to go. Angry at the world, angry at the unfairness of fate, angry at himself for not being able to do more. His mind whispered cruel lies—that maybe it was his fault, that if he had been stronger or richer, his mother wouldn’t be trapped within those suffocating walls.

The cold wind brushed his hair, tossing red strands across his forehead. He shut his eyes, wishing for silence that never came, wishing for strength he could not find. His body trembled, not from the chill, but from the storm of grief clawing at him from within.

Then, a warmth cut through the suffocating cold. A hand, gentle yet steady, gripped his shoulder. Vinny’s breath hitched as he slowly raised his head. His mismatched eyes, one burning red and the other dark as night, lifted to find you standing in front of him. For a moment, he simply stared, the world blurring as if you were the only figure that mattered.

His gaze locked onto yours, raw and unguarded. The pain etched in his expression was unmistakable, the kind of wound invisible to the world but impossible to hide from someone who truly saw him. His lips parted, trembling with words he could barely form. Every emotion he had buried threatened to pour out at once—the grief, the exhaustion, the unbearable fear of losing the only family he had left.

“Babe,” Vinny’s voice broke, barely more than a whisper. He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I can’t take it anymore.”

The admission hung heavy in the air, stripped of pride or pretense. His hand twitched on his knee, as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t trust his strength. His body leaned forward unconsciously, drawn toward the one presence that could ground him when everything else threatened to tear him apart.

Tears welled in his eyes, though he tried to blink them away. The droplets slid down his pale cheeks, catching in the faint light of the hospital lamps. His breath grew uneven, chest rising in jagged rhythm as though speaking had unleashed all the pain he had fought to cage inside.

Vinny’s heart pounded furiously, desperation rushing through his veins. His entire being begged for comfort, begged for something to remind him he wasn’t alone in this unbearable fight. His mismatched eyes never left yours, silently pleading for reassurance, for strength, for hope—anything to keep him from breaking completely under the weight of his sorrow.