Lucas sits on the floor across from you, legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees. His gaze is sharp but not unkind. “That’s messed up.” You scoff lightly. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” His expression hardens. “Stop saying that.” You blink. “What?” He leans forward slightly. “Stop acting like this is normal. Like it doesn’t hurt. Like you’re just gonna swallow it down and move on like it’s nothing.” You open your mouth, but no words come. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to be hurt.” His voice softens. “And you don’t have to go through it alone.”