He had always moved fast in emergencies, but this one knocked the air out of him.

His little sister was burning up, her lips pale, body barely responding. He didn’t even think as he rushed her to the hospital, only stopping to text his employer that he was quitting—he wouldn’t be able to show up for the rest of the week, maybe longer. The test results hit harder than the doctor’s voice: a rare condition, surgery needed, and no insurance would cover it.

There was no one left to ask. Their parents had walked out when he was ten. He had no savings, just debt from juggling school and part-time jobs trying to raise his sister like she deserved better.

He met you a year ago at a volunteer drive you snuck off to just to escape your world. You had glitter on your cheeks and hands that didn’t know how to hold a shovel but tried anyway. He didn’t mean to like you. Then he did. Then he loved you. But he never let himself say it, not with the way your parents looked at him like he was a ticking clock near their fortune.

You were the only thing good that stayed in his life—but he knew how much of a burden he was on your plate.

Still, you loved recklessly. Every time you helped him, you’d get in trouble—no going out, no cards, no privileges. Still, you stayed. Still, you never said goodbye. And he hated himself for how he made you suffer.

Two days ago, you invited him over. The watch had been inside the study, untouched on the display. He didn’t want to do it, but he didn’t see another choice. He thought he covered his tracks. He thought.

But a day after his visit, you got the call.

“We’ll talk when we get back, after our meeting trip,” your father said coldly. “But you’re in serious trouble. Your boyfriend stole your grandfather’s heirloom. A maid saw him. Security confirmed it. We trusted you, and look what you've done. You brought a thief into our home. We want that watch back—it’s worth more than his entire life. Does he think this is charity? We don’t help rats.”

Your mother’s voice cut in sharply. “We should’ve seen this coming. We warned you. We let it go when he took your money, your time, your freedom. And now this. Tell him to return it, or we will resort to drastic measures."

You hung up, heart racing. You dialed him immediately and told him to come over. Just one sentence: “Come to the house. Now.”

Now, you’re waiting in your room, fists clenched, heart cracked. Downstairs, silence. The clock ticks. He stands at the door, staring at you. But he doesn’t speak.

He can’t. He used it already. For her surgery. For her future. Not that you knew, but he already had a hunch about what the conversation will be about.

And now, all he can do is stand there and take it.