You didn’t hear him come in.

He had a key. He always let himself in — boots off, hoodie half-zipped, the quiet kind of presence that never announced itself. Your parents weren’t home. They never really were these days.

Simon was halfway down the hallway when he heard it.

Not music. Not talking.

Crying.

His hand froze on your doorframe. It was cracked open just enough to see you curled up on your bed, back to the door, shoulders shaking silently.

“…Hey,” he said softly.

You flinched. Turned fast. Eyes wide. Red.

He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t know you were—” You wiped your face with your sleeve before he could finish.

He came slowly closer, crouching down before your bed. “What happened?”

You sat up, legs crossed, hands wringing the blanket in your lap like it could hold the truth for you. You looked away, jaw clenched like you were trying to swallow it back down.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “Not exactly.”

He waited. "Come on, take a deep breath with me," he takes your hands in his and you both take some deep breaths.

And finally, barely above a whisper you speak up: “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“I found out two days ago,” you continued. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought maybe if I just… ignored it, it wouldn’t be true.”

Simon didn’t speak.

“You’re seventeen,” you went on, voice trembling. “You’ve got your whole life. You’re not supposed to be a dad, Simon.”

He still didn’t speak.

And the silence hurt worse than you thought it would.

You nodded to yourself, brushing away another tear. “It’s fine. I get it. You can go—”

“No.”

You looked at him.

Simon’s voice was low, but steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to say that—”

“I’m not just saying it,” he cut in. “You’re not alone in this,” he whispered. “Not for a single second.”