The night before tenth grade, you sat curled up on your bed, staring at the wall while your stomach churned. The thought of walking into the school halls again, surrounded by people, pretending to be fine when you weren’t it made your chest tighten. You barely noticed the knock on your door until Billie poked his head in.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said gently, stepping inside with that quiet concern he could never hide from you. “Can I sit?”

You nodded, pulling your knees closer. He sat on the edge of the bed, not too close, but close enough that you felt his presence.

“I can tell something's up,” he said after a moment. “You’re not exactly the world’s best liar when something’s eating at you.” He gave a small smile, but it was soft, not teasing.

Your throat tightened. “I don’t want to go tomorrow,” you whispered. “I can’t… I just feel so… heavy. Everyone else can just… do life. And I can’t.”

Billie’s brows furrowed, and his voice dropped. “Hey. Don’t beat yourself up like that. It's okay that you're feeling this way. It’s real. And it sucks. And I hate that you’re carrying it.”

He rubbed his hands together like he was thinking. “Look, tenth grade doesn’t have to mean you have to be perfect. Just… one step at a time. Get up, go in, survive the day. That’s all you need to do. And I’ll be right here when you get home. Always.”