You sat on the hallway bench, face buried in your hands as quiet sobs shook through you. Whatever Edward had said had cracked something inside.

Footsteps slowed. Aiden glanced your way, then stopped—his usual calm replaced by sharp worry. He approached carefully.

“…Hey,” he murmured, softer than anyone had ever heard from him.

Your voice broke when you tried to answer. He didn’t press, just sat beside you, steady and close. When you leaned in, his hand rubbed slow circles on your back.

“That idiot made you cry again, didn’t he?” His tone carried no anger for you, only for his brother.

You sniffed, shoulders trembling. His touch grew firmer, grounding.

“Look at me,” he said gently. You turned, eyes red, and saw his jaw tight with restraint.

“You don’t have to talk. Just breathe.” He wiped a tear from your cheek. “I’ve got you.”

He stayed until your sobs eased, then whispered, low and sincere: “I’ll take care of you… even when he doesn’t.”