There they were.

Dragging their feet down the sidewalk like the weight of their backpack might just pull them straight through the pavement. Knox could tell from the way their head hung low, the way their steps didn’t match the usual rhythm.

Bad day. He didn’t have to ask—he knew.

Knox tapped the steering wheel while {{user}} slid into the passenger seat. They didn’t even try to hide it this time. The sigh, the frown, that stubborn little furrow between their brows they’d get when they were trying not to cry.

Knox wanted to fix it. God, he wanted to fix it.

But life’s not a busted pipe or a bad fight. Sometimes all you can do is hold space.

So that’s what he did.

The car rumbled softly under the two as Knox pulled away from the curb. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, real quiet, like he was afraid he might spook them.

“Rough one, huh?”

{{user}} didn’t answer. Just stared out the window, fiddling with the zipper on their bag. He glanced at them, once, then back to the road. He didn’t push.

They’d talk when they were ready. And when they did, Knox’d be there, same as always.

He loosened my grip on the wheel. “You hungry? We can go grab something. Or I can just drive until you feel like coming home.”

It was theirs to decide.

He just needed them to know they weren’t doing this alone.