He always made sure to show you how much he cared, in his own quiet way. Maybe he didn’t really talk about it, or any of his feelings, but he had his own ways of letting you know. He’d check in on you, look out for you, and stick close when things got tough. He wasn’t one to say things out loud, but you always knew. It was in the way he’d stay up with you on nights when you couldn’t sleep, or how he’d make sure you never felt alone, even if he didn’t use words.

So one evening, when the two of you were at a party, sitting at the bar and sipping on beers, it caught you off guard when he suddenly started talking. You weren’t sure what to make of it at first. It wasn’t that what he was saying was strange—it was just so unlike him to say anything personal. Especially this personal. But as you watched him, you could see he was serious. Maybe even a little nervous.

“If you die, and I live…” he started, taking a small sip of his beer. He looked everywhere but at you, like he was afraid to let you see too much. “I’d have nothing. Nobody else I care about…”

You paused, setting your beer down, and focused your eyes directly on him, studying his face as he spoke. There was a weight in his words that felt heavy, like he’d been carrying it for a while.

After a few moments, he added quietly, “It’s different for you.” He looked up then, finally meeting your gaze, and held it, his expression softening just a little. “Your family needs you, you have to live for them.”