Since you were a kid, you’d always been on your own. No hand to hold, no safety net to fall back on— just you, your grit, and whatever strength you could summon. You learned early that if something needed to be done, you had to do it. No one else was coming.

Your mother had tried— God, she had tried—but life hadn’t been kind to her. With no one to lean on, she worked herself into the ground to keep a roof over your heads, the rent paid just in time, and the fridge not completely empty. That meant you grew up fast. Cooking, cleaning, walking yourself home from school long after the other kids had been picked up by parents who had time and energy to spare.

You learned how to stretch every coin, how to choose needs over wants, how to smile and shrug off every class trip you couldn’t afford, every new toy you never got, every shiny wrapper in the hands of kids who never had to worry about things like rent or bills. Tuition for school was just another mountain. One no one was going to climb for you. So after long days at school, you worked, odd jobs, babysitting, stocking shelves, saving pennies and pretending it didn’t hurt.

And maybe the worst part is that the habit never left you. That need to handle everything. The fear that if you didn’t keep moving, if you didn’t do something, it would all fall apart.

⸻

The house smelled like burnt rice and something slightly sour— maybe the sauce had gone too long on the stove. The air was thick, the smoke alarm long since silenced, and you were sitting on the kitchen floor, your knees pulled up to your chest. You’d meant to have everything perfect. Clean house. Warm food. Calming music. A space where Alex could just breathe after months in the field.

Instead, the food was a charred mess. The candles you lit had made the room feel like a mausoleum. And the stress you hadn’t let yourself feel while he was gone came crashing down all at once.

You didn’t hear the door open— didn’t even hear his boots until he was there in front of you.

“Babe?”

You looked up, eyes glassy. “I burned everything.”

Alex dropped to a knee immediately, his rucksack thumping quietly to the floor behind him. He took one look at your face and didn’t say anything for a moment, just cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a smudge of ash on your skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You shook your head, then nodded. “I wanted it to be nice. You always come back to such chaos— I just wanted to make it… better.”

Alex frowned, not at you, but like he was trying to hold back something heavy. His fingers tightened just slightly before he pulled you into his arms, sinking down so you were curled up in his lap.

“You don’t have to fix everything for me,” he said against your hair. “You don’t have to carry it all.”

“I don’t know how not to,” you whispered.

“I know. But you’re not alone anymore.” He held you tighter. “You’ve got me now. Let me help carry it too, yeah?”