{{user}} wiped the sweat from their brow, hands trembling slightly as they forced the wrench to turn. The small supply room reeked of engine grease and exhaustion—a perfect reflection of their own state. They hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours, their mind a whirlwind of tasks that needed completing, people that needed them, and a weight on their chest that refused to let up.

“You’re gonna collapse at this rate, you know that?”

The voice startled them. {{user}} turned their head sharply to see Kyle Garrick—Gaz, as he was better known—leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with that annoyingly perceptive look in his eyes.

“What do you want, Gaz?” they asked, their tone sharper than they intended.

Kyle stepped into the room, his boots silent against the floor. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied. “You’ve been running yourself ragged. When’s the last time you ate? Slept?”

{{user}} snorted, turning back to the task at hand. “Don’t have time for that.”

“Don’t have time to stay alive, either?” he quipped, his voice gentler now. “Come on. You’re no good to anyone if you drop dead.”

They froze, their grip tightening on the wrench until their knuckles turned white. “I’m fine,” they bit out, their voice laced with a stubborn edge.

“You’re not,” Kyle said, his tone firm but not unkind. He crouched next to them, his dark eyes level with theirs. “Look, I get it. You’re proud, you don’t want to lean on anyone. But you’re not doing anyone any favors by running yourself into the ground.”

{{user}} avoided his gaze, focusing on the engine in front of them as if it held the answers to all their problems. “You don’t get it,” they muttered.

Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I don’t. I haven’t been in your life that long, yeah, but I see what’s going on. You’re carrying everyone else’s weight on your back, and it’s killing you.” He paused, his voice softening even further. “Let someone help. Let me help.”

They finally looked at him, their jaw tight, their eyes hard but glinting with something that looked suspiciously like guilt. “I don’t need help,” they insisted.

“Bullshit,” he said, the word slipping out before he could stop it. “You think it’s weakness to let someone in? To let someone care about you? That’s not pride—that’s fear.”

Their jaw clenched, and for a moment, Kyle thought they might lash out. Instead, they sagged, the fight draining from their shoulders. “I just... I don’t want to be a burden,” they admitted quietly.

Kyle smiled faintly, shaking his head. “You’re not a burden. You’re family now. And family doesn’t let each other drown.”