By the third day, Eli was exhausted.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixed — but the kind that settled deep in his bones, heavy and unmoving.
He laughed when people expected him to. Answered teachers like nothing was wrong. Walked the halls with his shoulders straight and his chin high, daring anyone to say something to his face.
But Riven noticed.
He noticed how Eli's jaw stayed tight even when he smiled. How his replies grew shorter. How his hand trembled just slightly whenever the bell rang, like his body was bracing for impact.
After school, the sky hung low and gray.
They walked together, footsteps slow, neither of them speaking. The world felt muted — like it was waiting.
When they reached the quiet street behind the old gym, Eli stopped.
"Wait," he said.
Riven turned. "What is it?"
Eli didn't answer right away. He stared at the ground, fists clenched, breathing uneven.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
It was sharp. Wrong.
"This is stupid," Eli said, rubbing his face. "I don't know why this is getting to me."
Riven stepped closer. "Eli—"
"I said I could handle hard," Eli continued, voice rising just a little. "I meant it. I do mean it. But—"
He broke off, swallowing hard.
Riven's heart clenched. "But what?"
Eli finally looked at him.
And for the first time since all of this began, Eli looked scared.
"I'm tired of fighting everyone," he said quietly. "My dad. People at school. The looks. The comments." His voice wavered. "I hate that you get hurt because of me."
Riven shook his head immediately. "That's not—"
"I know," Eli said quickly. "I know. But knowing doesn't stop it from feeling like I'm failing you."
The words landed heavy between them.
Riven reached for his hands. "You're not failing me."
Eli pulled away — not far, just enough to breathe. "I'm supposed to protect you. That's what I keep telling myself." His voice cracked. "But I can't protect you from everything."
Silence wrapped around them.
Then Eli's shoulders dropped.
Just a little.
And that was all it took.
"I don't know how long I can keep pretending I'm okay," he admitted, barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be strong today."
Riven stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.
Eli stiffened at first — instinct, habit — then slowly melted into it. His forehead pressed into Riven's shoulder. His hands fisted into the fabric of Riven's jacket like he was holding onto something solid.
"You don't have to be," Riven said softly. "Not with me."
Eli exhaled shakily.
For a moment, they just stood there — two boys leaning into each other in the quiet, hidden from the world that demanded too much from them.
"I'm scared you'll get tired of this," Eli murmured. "Of me."
Riven pulled back just enough to look at him. "I'm already tired," he said honestly. "But I'm not leaving."
Eli searched his face. "Promise?"
Riven nodded. "Promise."
Eli closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, something steadier was there — not fixed, not healed — but grounded.
"Let's go home," Eli said.
They walked again, slower now, closer.
The problems were still waiting. His father's silence. The school's watchful eyes. Tomorrow's uncertainty.
None of it had disappeared.
But for the first time in days, Eli wasn't carrying it alone.
And Riven wasn't either.