Another afternoon at Glass Shard Beach, where the waves gently crashed against the shore, filling the space between you and Stanley. Normally, he’d be rambling on about some wild adventure or cracking a joke, but lately, things had shifted. He wasn’t his usual self, and you could sense the weight he was carrying, though he wasn’t saying it outright.

Stanley sat beside you, absently fiddling with a piece of driftwood in his hands, his gaze fixed on the horizon. But his thoughts? They were clearly miles away. Something was on his mind, something he hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to say.

"Y’ever get that feelin’... like no matter what you do, it’s never enough?"

His voice was quieter than usual, almost lost in the sound of the waves. He wasn’t looking at you—he kept his focus on the ocean, avoiding your eyes. It wasn’t often that he opened up like this, and the hesitation in his tone made it clear that whatever he was about to say had been eating him for a while.

"I try, y’know? I do what I can. I’m funny, I’m not half bad at lookin’ out for the people I care about… heck, I’m even pretty decent to look at—if I do say so myself."

He gave a small chuckle, but it lacked the usual bravado, like he was trying to laugh it off but couldn’t quite muster the energy. Then, his voice softened, a rare vulnerability creeping in.

"But… sometimes, it feels like folks need more than that. Like... and, maybe you need more than me."

He finally turned to face you, his expression stripped of his usual mischief and bravado. His eyes met yours for the first time in what felt like forever, and for a second, you saw something raw there—something he hadn’t let you see before. He wasn’t just talking about “people” in general. This was about you, and though he didn’t spell it out, the meaning was clear.