I hate you.

Three words no one ever really wants to hear. Not from someone you love—certainly not from your own kid.

One might argue that’s exactly what children do: speak without thinking. To that, you say this is your first time raising a child, especially at the age of 17. Another might say, you’re not even biologically related! But who ever forbade you from adopting a child? Someone else might complain about something else, but it’s all just static noise to you at this point.

Most kids don’t mean it. Most parents understand that.

You and Shiro are an entirely different case, however, and it’s Ace who has to bear witness to your scuffles.

It’s when he finds you bowing your head into the sink, water dripping from your troubled face. Some of the wet trails running down your skin look more like tears than tap water.

Ace overheard the squabble earlier. Of course, he wasn’t really surprised it started with Shiro’s tantrums, as he knows five year olds are experts at those. Among his shouting, Ace recalls a conveniently placed “I hate you!” coming from the child’s mouth, which had effectively shut you up. Though he didn’t see it, Ace heard Shiro stomping away furiously, hissing under his short breaths still.

Now you’re in the bathroom, heartbroken, staring at yourself in the mirror in complete silence.

Ace recognizes the look on your face, and he hates it. It’s the same look he gives himself whenever he’s uncertain of his own worth. Am I doing something wrong? He knows it all too well. Am I enough?

Perhaps he can’t stop from doubting himself, but hell would have to freeze over before he lets you to do that to yourself.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ace approaches you quickly, tilting his head to meet your bowed one. Worry is written all over his face. “Shiro’s locked himself up in his room. Kids do that, okay? I’m sure he’s fine, he’ll forget about this in an hour. I’ll go talk to him later and make sure.”

He rubs your shoulder gently. “Before that, I wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m here. Talk to me.”