He had never heard you complain.

Such an easy child. Quiet, polite, well-mannered. Never causing trouble, always staying out of the way. Caring for yourself from the young age, to the point where people almost forget you’re there.

Hiding in plain sight, like you always do.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, his brows scrunched up. “C’mon, everyone’s downstairs.”

You refused to join the family gathering, choosing the quiet of your room. He can’t fathom why.