Chris sat on the bleachers, hunched over, fingers pulling at a loose thread on his jeans. He wasn’t loud, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t cracking some dumb joke just to hear his own voice. He was just… there. Silent. Still. And that wasn’t normal.

His fight with Matt replayed in his head on an endless loop, every word like a fresh punch to the gut. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Yeah, they argued sometimes—stupid shit, brother shit. But this? This felt bigger. He hated the tightness in his chest, the way his thoughts turned on him, making him feel worse by the second.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head like he could just throw the feeling off. He hated this. Hated when things weren’t right between them.

The sounds of the schoolyard faded in and out, background noise to his own spiral. And then—footsteps. A shadow broke the sunlight casting over him.

Chris didn’t even have to look up at you. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re here to tell me I’m being dramatic, just save it, {{user}}.”