All he did was try. You knew that. And you knew why. This sickness…this disease…this flawed figure he was given under false pretenses brought only chronic pain. Same as the others. Yet Amir remains as peppy as he can. But it was sometimes met with irritation or simple ignorance.

You both settle on the faded teal couch in your backroom late into the night and as always, he rests his head on your chest, comfortably laying upon your frame while ranting before stopping to ask,

“…Am I too much…?”

Weariness meets Amir’s tone. Everyone on the team treats him like a joke. As if he wasn’t the most capable and ONLY technician there. He’s been hearing the voice of his old gym coach in his head more often...

“You’ll never amount to anything.”

He’s been terrified of doing the wrong thing ever since. Saying the wrong thing. Not being good enough.