And the moment you help him finally set it down.

The day hits Ian like a truck.

You can tell before he even speaks. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and there’s this heaviness around him—like he’s carrying something invisible but crushing.

When you walk into the Gallagher living room, he’s standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest. Not angry. Not manic. Just… weighed down.

“Ian,” you say softly.

He doesn’t turn. “Hey.” His voice is small, almost unrecognizable.

You step closer but not too close. “Rough day?”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “More like a rough… life.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “I keep trying to keep it together. For everyone. For me. For—” He stops himself.

You wait. Calm. Patient.

He swallows. “I feel like I’m holding up a house made of bricks, and if I drop one—just one—everything comes crashing down.”

You take a breath, keeping your tone warm. “You don’t have to hold the whole house by yourself.”

He shakes his head. “If I don’t, who will? My family’s a mess. My brain’s a mess. People count on me to be okay even when I’m not.” He presses a hand to his chest. “And it’s getting… heavy. Really heavy.”

You step in front of him so he has no choice but to see you. “You’re allowed to put it down,” you say. “You don’t have to carry every fear, responsibility, and expectation alone.”

His eyes flick to yours—tired, overwhelmed, scared of failing.

“What if I break when I put it down?” he whispers