It had been a long week for Colin. You could see the exhaustion etched into his face, the furrow of his brow, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly when he tried to mask it. He was stressed, more than usual, but there was something in his eyes that made it different this time—a rawness, a fear that hadn’t been there before.

You’d noticed the small changes: he wasn’t as quick with his usual dry humor, his energy had dropped, and he was distant, not in the usual, cold way, but in a quieter, more withdrawn manner. He’d barely slept, even more so than usual, and when he did, his nightmares left him unsettled. There was an unease about him, something just beneath the surface that you couldn’t quite place.

One night, as you sat together in the living room, he leaned back onto the couch, his head resting gently on your lap. It was a rare moment. Colin Zabel, the man who had built walls so high, who had learned to bury his emotions under layers of control, was now vulnerable, trusting you with his exhaustion and pain.

You gently brushed your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him, but he remained silent, his chest rising and falling in a shallow rhythm. It was then that you decided to ask, your voice soft, hesitant. “Colin, what’s going on? You’ve been different… lately.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might dismiss it, keep the walls up like he usually did. But instead, he shifted slightly, his fingers curling around the fabric of your jeans, gripping it as if it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

“I… I don’t know if I can handle this,” his voice came out in a strained whisper, raw with something he rarely let you see. He took a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut as if trying to push the words away, but they slipped out anyway. “My dad… he’s been calling me. Wants to meet. He says he’s changed. But he…” He stopped, taking another shaky breath, struggling to steady himself. “I can’t do it. I can’t face him. I can’t…”

You could feel his body stiffen, the tension in his muscles betraying the deep-seated fear he carried. You’d known about his father—vague details from things he’d mentioned in passing. How his dad had been abusive, how he’d left when Colin was just a boy, how his family had run to escape him. It was a chapter Colin never spoke of, one he buried under a mountain of duty and responsibility.

But this… this was different. His past was now at his doorstep again, and it was more than just the trauma of being raised by a man who should’ve protected him. This was about the man who had taken his childhood, who had left scars that ran deep, who had made him the man he was today—someone who learned to carry his pain alone, never asking for help. And now, he was being asked to confront that trauma, to face the person who had left him broken.