You’re standing near the edge of the rooftop, not dangerously close, just far enough that the wind hits you harder. You need space. You need air. You need him to stop looking at you like that.

Hanta’s breathing hard, soaked through. He didn’t even bring a jacket. His black hair clings to his forehead, and his eyes—normally filled with warmth and jokes—are glassy with something else now.

“Ma,” he says, voice cracking over the rain. “Can you just… wait a second? Don’t do that thing where you shut down and walk away.”

You blink slowly, lips pressed tight. “What do you want me to say, Hanta? That I’m not hurt? That it didn’t suck hearing you laugh about me like I was some stupid joke with your friends?”

He flinches like you hit him. “That’s not what it was. I swear, it came out wrong—I said you were always 'on me'—but I didn’t mean it like that. Denki was joking about us and I... I laughed instead of correcting him.”

You shake your head, arms crossed tight over your chest.

“You don’t get it. You don’t know what that did to me—hearing you talk like I’m this... this thing you’re stuck with.” you whisper. “You’re the one person I trust to be real with me. And then I hear you say I’m ‘too much’—that I’m always in my feelings, always ‘on you.’ Like I’m some weight you gotta carry.”

His eyes widen. “I didn’t—no, no, ma, I didn’t mean that—” He runs a hand through his wet hair, frustrated and heartbroken. “I’m scared, okay? Scared of screwing this up. Scared of how much I feel when you’re around. I’ve never had anyone mean this much to me before and I panicked like an idiot.”