chion had always known that he didn’t belong here, not really.

the world {{user}} lived in was all brightness and edges softened by wealth. carpets so thick they swallowed the sound of your footsteps, houses so large they echoed your name back to you if you whispered.

while chion? he grew up in a place where walls were so thin you could hear your mother sobs and soft murmurs, praying for a better life through the thin partition.

he didn't belong here.

{{user}}’s voice was light as always, drifting in and out of chion’s thoughts. he talked about his mother again, about how excited she’d be to meet chion. how she already loved him just from what user had told her.

chion didn’t respond.

meet his mother.

as if it were that simple. as if love was enough to cross the chasm between them.

chion stopped walking.

{{user}} had never had to scrape for anything, had never felt the gnawing ache of hunger, never watched his mother swallow her pride and work herself to the bone just so he could have a pair of shoes that didn’t pinch his toes.

“stop,” chion said, his voice sharper than he intended, interrupting {{user}} who blinked, taken aback.

“stop saying she’ll like me, {{user}}. you don’t know that.” his voice cracked on the last word, and he hated himself for it. “did you tell her? my living conditions? or is she unaware of it? your mother-" chion gulped, his words spilling before he could even process them fully. "she wouldn’t approve of how my mother raised me. she wouldn’t approve of me.”

he hadn’t meant to say so much, hadn’t meant to let it all spill out like that, but now it hung in the air between them.

“you don’t get it,” chion muttered, looking down at his hands, rough and calloused from years of work. “you’ve never had to get it.”