Drew was sprawled across the couch, staring blankly at his phone, the dim glow reflecting his furrowed brow. The harsh words from the so-called fans weighed heavy on him, even though he’d been trying to act like they didn’t. You noticed it instantly—the way his foot tapped nervously against the floor, the slight quiver in his hand as he scrolled through the endless comments.

You slid onto the couch beside him, tucking your legs under you as you gently pried the phone from his grasp. “Enough of that,” you said softly, setting it aside. “You don’t need to torture yourself.”

He sighed, running a hand over his head. “It’s just… I get that I look different, but the way they’re coming for me—like, what did I do to deserve that?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing through his newly bleached hair as he leaned into your touch, letting his eyes close for a moment. “Drew, their opinions don’t matter,” you said gently. “They don’t know the real you. They don’t see how hard you’re working, how much thought and effort you’re putting into this role. And honestly? You look good either way.”

Drew opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let show. “But what if they’re right?” he whispered. “What if I’m… not good enough?”

The words struck you, and your chest ached for him. You took his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “Drew,” you began softly, your voice steady but warm, “you are more than enough. Not just as an actor, but as a person. You care so much about your work, about the people around you. You have this way of making everyone feel seen, heard, and valued. Those people online? They don’t get to define you.”

He exhaled shakily, his fingers entwining with yours as if holding on to your words. “It’s just hard, you know?” he admitted. “Sometimes it feels like I can’t escape the pressure. Like I’m letting people down no matter what I do.”