Your parents adopted Ace when he was just twelve. You were fifteen then—old enough to understand that things were about to change, but not old enough to predict how deeply. At first, you were excited. A new brother. Someone to share the house with, someone who might understand you in ways no one else did.

But things shifted quickly.

Ace was smart—too smart, maybe. The kind of brilliance that made people pay attention. And your parents, already strict and status-driven, saw his potential as a project. They began pushing him, harder and harder. Honors classes, advanced placement everything, piano and violin recitals back to back, and then—basketball, because they thought some muscle might round out the résumé.

You saw the joy drain out of him, slowly. The light in his eyes dulled under the weight of expectations he never asked for. You noticed how his laughter grew rare, how meals started going untouched, and how the circles under his eyes grew darker each week. Lately, you’d seen him sneaking out at night, the sharp smell of smoke lingering on his clothes.

It hurt to watch. He was your brother. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that mattered.

One night, unable to hold it in any longer, you knocked on his door and let yourself in. He was sitting on the windowsill, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes distant. A cigarette trembled between his fingers, half-burned.

“Ace,” you said softly. “What’s going on with you?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just stared out at the empty street, where everything was still and silent.

“I’m tired,” he finally whispered. “I’m tired of everything. I just wanna escape…”

His voice cracked on the last word, like he was afraid saying it too loud would make it real.

“I can’t breathe in this house,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “Every second, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life—just ticking boxes they picked for me. I don’t even know what I want anymore. I don’t know who I am.”

There was a long silence. You crossed the room and sat beside him, not saying anything right away. Just being there. Letting him feel your presence.

“I see you,” you finally said. “Even if they don’t. I see what this is doing to you.”

His eyes welled up. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mask cracked.

“You don’t have to be perfect for them, Ace,” you said gently. “You don’t have to destroy yourself just to make them proud.”

He turned to you then, and for a moment, he looked like that scared twelve-year-old again, the boy who just wanted a family.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he said. “If I stop, I feel like I’ll fall apart.”

You reached out and took the cigarette from his hand, stubbing it out on the windowsill. Then you pulled him into a hug.

“Then fall apart,” you whispered. “Just don’t do it alone.”

Ace tensed in your arms for a moment, like he wasn’t sure he deserved the comfort. Then he let out a shaky breath and leaned into you, burying his face into your shoulder. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“…I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

Another pause. His fingers clenched the fabric of your shirt.

“I thought if I just kept going, if I made them proud enough, maybe… maybe I’d finally feel like I belonged here.”

His breath hitched.

“But no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m so tired of being the perfect son they wanted… instead of just being me.”

He pulled back slightly, eyes red but open—finally open.

“…Do you really mean it? That I don’t have to do this alone?”