Adrian was down. Like really down. One of those nights where everything felt stupid - the world, his job, even Peacemaker. Especially Peacemaker.

All the 11th Street kids had been invited to a small party. Everyone - except him. And yeah, maybe he was overreacting. They could have just forgotten to invite him or… sent the invite to the wrong number. Maybe he was just being dramatic. But what if he wasn’t? Adrian had checked his phone thousands of times, different numbers, all folders of his email - even all his junk mail. Nothing. What if they actually didn’t want him there? What if he was just… too much?

He’d tried fighting crime to blow off steam that night, but it turned out being a bad idea. It’s hard to chase bad guys when your chest keeps tightening every time you stop to breathe, when the silence hits too hard and suddenly all you can do is think. Vigilante doesn’t cry. That’s, like, rule number one. So he had to head back home.

So here he was: in his basement, sitting between piles of contraband and cash he’d confiscated off criminals, knees pulled up, eyes red. Nobody would find him here. Nobody ever tried. But then the locks on his totally high-tech door (okay, just three normal locks on a normal door) clicked open. Adrian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as {{user}}’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.

“…you’re… breaking and entering,” he muttered, voice thick, trying to hide his emotions fast. “That’s a crime, you know.” He ducked his head again, mumbling into his knees, raspy. “Don’t… don’t like crime.”

He didn’t tell them to leave. Not really. He just said it because that’s what people expect him to say. Because if they left, he could pretend it didn’t matter, that he didn’t care as much as he did. But {{user}} didn’t move. They just stood there. Stayed.

No one had ever stayed before, not for him.

His throat burned again, stupidly. He rubbed at his eyes like it was dust caught in them, not tears. He hated his brain, his stupid tear ducts. Cool people don’t cry… why is he crying? He’s cool, right? “I’m fine,” he said too fast. “I didn’t even want to go to that dumb party anyway.” A pause. A shaky sniffle. A swallow of a lump in his throat. “…you didn’t miss much, right?”