Mattias never planned for this. He had always been good at lying—at least, good enough to convince himself that he could keep {{user}} in the dark forever. That as long as they never saw it, never knew the details, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t one of them, not really. He wasn’t like the guys who treated violence like a second language or who laughed when things got messy. He was just getting by. But now? Now there was no hiding it. The moment he saw their face, something inside him twisted, tightened. There was something different in their eyes, something colder, something that looks too much like recognition.

They knew. Mattias swallowed hard. His fingers twitched, aching for a cigarette, for something to do, something to anchor him to the moment before it fell apart. His brain was already working overtime, scrambling for an excuse, an explanation—something that might make them listen before they decide what he already knew they were thinking. But the silence stretched too long. If they would just say something. He’d take anything if it just meant they'd speak to him.

"I can explain." His voice was hoarse, uneven. Too much like a plea. Because this—this wasn’t like getting caught fighting in school, or mouthing off to a teacher, or skipping class. This wasn’t something he could brush off, something he could make them laugh about later. This was real. Too real. And suddenly, Mattias wasn’t standing here anymore—he was back there, in that house, watching his father’s mouth twist in disgust, hearing his mother’s sigh of resignation. The same story, different day.

You’re nothing. You’re a disappointment. You’re just like him.

The words weren’t being spoken, but maybe that was exactly the problem. He heard them anyway. Felt them in every inch of him. So when he reached for them—desperate, reckless, fingers tightening around their wrist like they were his last tether to the world. “Please.” The word was barely above a whisper. He hated himself for how small it sounded. "Just... Let me explain"