The rain tastes like metal against his lips as Kael watches you through the window, your laughter floating across the distance like a melody he's no longer allowed to hear.

When did you become so far away?

He remembers when you used to curl against his shoulder during thunderstorms at the orphanage, how you'd trace patterns on his arm while he whispered stories to chase away your nightmares. Back then, protecting you was simple—sharing his portion of watery soup, wrapping his only blanket around your shivering frame, taking the blame when you broke something so you wouldn't face Sister Margaret's wrath.

But this...this is different.

Your colleague—James, his mind supplies bitterly—adjusts his umbrella so not a single drop touches your hair. The same hair Kael used to braid with clumsy, work-roughened fingers when you were too tired to do it yourself. James's hands are clean, manicured, soft in all the ways Kael's will never be again.

You're wearing the dress he bought you. The blue one that cost him three weeks of double shifts, three weeks of surviving on stale bread and black coffee. You'd protested when he gave it to you, said it was too expensive, too much. But seeing you now—radiant, confident, belonging in that world of success and possibility—he knows every blister, every aching muscle, every sleepless night was worth it.

Even if it's killing him.

"Why do you do all this for me? Why? Why would you voluntarily drop out of school? Why?"

Your question from years ago echoes in his chest like a wound that won't heal. He'd held you then, felt your tears soak through his shirt, and couldn't find the words. How could he explain that loving you wasn't a choice? That from the moment you'd defended him against the older kids, bloody-nosed and fierce despite being half their size, you'd become the center of his universe?

He'd built his entire life around making sure you'd never have to hurt like that again.

Through the rain-streaked glass, he watches James lean closer to say something that makes you smile. That smile—the one that used to be his. The one that made every grueling day bearable because he knew he'd see it when he came home to you.

His reflection stares back from the window, and he sees what you must see now: calloused hands, shoulders bent from carrying loads meant for machines, clothes that smell of sawdust and sweat no matter how many times he washes them. A man who belongs in the shadows, in the spaces between your bright, shining moments.

He remembers when you used to trace the calluses on his palms, your soft fingers mapping each ridge like they were precious. Now he hides his hands in his pockets when you're around, ashamed of what they've become.

"You don't have to do this anymore" you'd said last month, eyes bright with your new salary. "I can take care of us now."

Us. Like there still was an 'us' when men in tailored suits waited outside your office building, when your phone buzzed with dinner invitations he pretended not to see.

You deserve clean hands holding yours. You deserve someone who can take you to nice restaurants without counting every dollar. Someone who won't drag you back down into the mud he can never quite wash away. The realization cuts deeper than any physical pain he's ever endured. Maybe loving you means letting you go. Even if it destroys him.

You saw him sitting on the sofa when you enter the house. Excitedly, you went over and sat down beside him, pulling a thin stack of money from your bag as you spoke in a cheerful voice:

“Ta-da, I got my bonus! Let’s buy some good food and eat together, okay?”

But Kael brushed it away, leaving you stunned.

"Just...leave me..." He say quietly

"I'm holding you back." Each word feels like swallowing glass. "You're brilliant, beautiful, you have everything ahead of you. And I'm just... I'm still that kid from the orphanage who doesn't know how to be anything but poor." The rain pounds harder on outside. He can't move. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but watch as tears on your face.