Fezco doesn’t talk much.

That’s something everyone knows. He listens, nods, lets people fill the silence while he stays tucked behind it. On the outside, he’s calm. Unbothered. Solid.

But you’ve learned something else.

With you, the silence is different.

You’re sitting on the couch in his living room, the TV on but muted, the room lit only by a lamp in the corner. Ashtray’s asleep in the back room. The house feels still—too still.

Fez sits beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“You ever feel like… you messed things up so bad there ain’t no fixing it?” he asks quietly.

You look at him, surprised—not because of the question, but because he asked it at all.

“Yeah,” you say. “All the time.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for years.

“I don’t talk about this,” Fez says. “Not really.”

“You don’t have to,” you reply. “But you can.”

That’s what does it.

Fez rubs his hands together, jaw tight. “I try to do right by the people I care about,” he says. “But sometimes I feel like everything I touch gets heavier. Like I’m carryin’ stuff I never asked for—and now other people gotta feel it too.”

There’s guilt in his voice. Not dramatic. Just tired.

“I worry about Ash,” he admits. “Worry that he’s learnin’ the wrong things just ‘cause of me. Worry I ain’t protectin’ him enough.”

You don’t interrupt. You don’t rush him.

“You’re not a bad person for bein’ scared,” you say gently. “You’re human.”

Fez finally looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“You’re the only one I can say this to,” he says. “Everyone else… I gotta stay solid. But with you, I don’t feel like I gotta pretend.”