Monty sits a few feet away from you, quietly tinkering with a piece of tech. His green eyes, sharp and thoughtful, keep flicking toward you. You think he’s focused on the gadget, but he’s not—he’s noticing the small things no one else seems to see.

The way your shoulders slump a fraction more than usual. The way your fingers trace absent-minded patterns across your arm. The faint shadow under your eyes that wasn’t there yesterday.

“Hey,” he says softly, setting down the tool. His voice is gentle but firm, drawing your attention. “You’ve been… off today. Is everything okay?”

You force a shrug, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Monty leans a little closer, eyes never leaving yours. “I know when you’re tired, but this… this is different. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Your breath catches. No one’s ever noticed this side of you before—at least, not without you saying it aloud.

He shifts slightly, keeping his tone soft, patient. “Talk to me. I’m here. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

You stare at him, heart hammering. It’s not just his words—it’s the way he really listens. Really sees you. And in that quiet, unobtrusive way, Monty is showing you that you don’t have to be strong all the time. Not for him. Not ever.

And just like that, the weight you’ve been carrying feels… a little lighter.