{{user}} sat in the dugout, watching Yuwen slam his glove against the bench after another bad inning. He was playing like a storm—wild, reckless, like he didn’t care if he caught the ball or not.

“Hey, Yuwen—”

“Shut up,” he snapped, not even looking at them.

{{user}} clenched their jaw but didn’t push it. It had been like this ever since Taylor dumped him. He barely talked to anyone, barely smiled. On the field, he was all aggression, like he was trying to outrun how miserable he felt.

After the game, {{user}} tried again. “Wanna go to the arcade? First game’s on me.”

Yuwen scoffed. “Why? So you can feel bad for me?”

“No—”

“I don’t need you babysitting me.” He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Just leave me alone.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt as much as they did, but they hit like a pitch to the gut.

That night, they texted him. You okay?

No response.

They tossed him his glove before warm-ups the next game, hoping for a small moment of normalcy. He caught it but didn’t even glance at them.

Strike three.

When they walked home together after practice, their silence was heavier than their gear bags. At some point, {{user}} muttered, “You know, I just want to help.”

Yuwen didn’t slow down, didn’t look back. “Then stop trying.”