You hurry toward him as the wind lashes your face, stinging and raw. He’s still standing in the same place, stiff as a statue, but you can see the fine tremors racing through him. His back is straight, his jaw set like stone but he's shaking, badly. His fingers are curled tightly into fists at his sides, and his breath comes in fast, visible puffs.

When you call out, his head tilts just slightly, but he doesn't move. Still holding himself upright, like pride alone is keeping him from collapsing.

"You're freezing," you say,reaching out—but not touching him just yet. "Why are you just standing there?"

He hisses softly through his teeth, the sound sharp and strained. “It’s... n-not that bad...” he grits out, but his voice betrays him it’s frayed and unsteady. "I can still stand."

You step closer now, steady and sure. "I know you can. But that doesn't mean you have to do it like this."

His eyes flick to you, stormy, tired, but still full of that fire you recognize. He’s trying to be strong. Maybe for you. Maybe just because he doesn’t know how not to be.

You unfasten your coat or shrug off your outer layer and wrap it over his shoulders, firm but gentle. He stiffens for a second, then slowly exhales, the tension leaking from his jaw. He stays standing, tall and proud but now, he's letting you stand beside him.

"You don’t have to fall for me to know you’re hurting," you say quietly, steadying him with a hand at his back. "Let’s go in. You don’t have to carry this alone."

He doesn’t reply. He just nods once and walks beside you. Still upright. Still himself. But now, not alone.