The silence is deafening. The words have already left your mouth. You didn’t mean them—at least, not like that—but they’re hanging there, thick and poisonous, too heavy to pull back. Arven just… stops.

His hands go slack at his sides. His brows don’t furrow. His shoulders don’t rise. No sharp comeback. No explosive anger. Just… stillness. And then:

“…Wow.”

The hurt in his voice is blatantly clear. It’s quiet and raw. Like something inside him just cracked in two. He looks at you—and it’s like staring at a wall.

“So that’s what you think of me.”

He laughs. Just once. a bitter and thin sound, really. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re trying not to cry in front of someone.

“Y’know… I can take people hating my parents. Hell, I get it. Everyone thinks they’re geniuses, but all I remember is empty hallways and warming cold dinners in the microwave. I waited.”

He swallows hard, voice shaking now.

“Waiting for someone who never came back. Not once.”

He steps back. A little too fast, like he can’t stand being this close to you anymore. There’s that look in his eyes—the one like he’s trying to build walls faster than the pain can spill out. Like he’s begging himself not to break here.

“But I thought you saw me. Not just a messed-up kid. Not just some tag-along with a broken dog and parent issues.”

His voice finally cracks.

“I thought I mattered to you.”

He turns away. Shoulders trembling. One hand curls into a fist at his side. You don’t know if he’s trying to stay upright or keep himself from saying something worse.

(Art creds to @THXZMGN on X‼️)