The next morning felt quieter than usual.
Not peaceful. Just… quiet.
Eli noticed it the moment he stepped into Sunvale Academy. Conversations softened when he passed. Some students looked away too quickly. Others stared a little too long before pretending not to.
He was used to it by now.
What he wasn't used to was how tired he still felt.
Riven walked beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed occasionally. Neither of them mentioned yesterday. They didn't need to. The memory of Eli finally breaking down still lingered between them — fragile, unspoken.
Inside the classroom, Eli sat down and stared at the board without really seeing it.
The teacher's voice faded into background noise.
He kept thinking about what he said.
I don't want to be strong today.
The words embarrassed him now. Eli Navarro had always been the one people relied on. The one who stayed calm. The one who didn't fall apart.
But yesterday, he had.
And somehow, the world hadn't ended.
A small realization settled in his chest.
Maybe strength didn't always look like standing tall.
Maybe sometimes it looked like letting someone see you tired.
Across the room, Riven glanced at him again. Their eyes met for only a second, but it was enough. A quiet check-in. A silent Are you okay?
Eli gave the smallest nod.
Not completely okay.
But trying.
Lunch was louder than usual.
The cafeteria buzzed with conversations, trays clattering, laughter echoing off the walls. Eli and Riven sat at their usual table, though fewer people sat nearby now. Some distance had formed around them — invisible but noticeable.
Riven poked at his food. "Do you ever wish things could just go back to normal?"
Eli thought about it.
Normal meant hiding. Pretending. Watching every movement, every word.
He shook his head. "No."
Riven looked surprised.
"I just wish normal didn't hurt this much," Eli added quietly.
Riven smiled faintly at that.
Before either of them could say more, a group of students passed by their table. One of them laughed — not loudly, but enough.
Eli's shoulders tensed automatically.
Riven noticed.
He reached under the table, brushing his fingers lightly against Eli's hand. Not obvious. Not something anyone else would notice.
But grounding.
Eli exhaled slowly, tension easing just a little.
After classes, the sky cleared for the first time in days.
Golden light spilled across the campus, warming the pavement. Students lingered outside, taking pictures, talking about weekend plans.
Eli and Riven walked toward the gate together.
"You seem quieter today," Riven said.
Eli shrugged. "Thinking."
"About?"
Eli hesitated. Then said honestly, "About how long this is going to take."
Riven frowned. "What do you mean?"
"For things to stop feeling like a battle," Eli said. "With my dad. With school. With everything."
Riven didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't know either.
Instead, he said, "Maybe it doesn't stop. Maybe we just get stronger."
Eli glanced at him. "You sound like you believe that."
"I'm trying to," Riven admitted.
They reached the gate and stopped, neither in a hurry to leave.
The afternoon sun softened Riven's expression, making him look younger, less guarded. Eli realized then how much Riven had been carrying too — fear, doubt, the constant worry of being the reason things were hard.
Eli stepped closer.
"I meant what I said yesterday," he said quietly. "I don't want to do this alone."
Riven's eyes softened. "You're not."
For a moment, everything felt simple again.
Then Eli's phone buzzed.
A message from his mother.
Your father wants to talk tonight.
Eli's chest tightened.
The calm cracked.
Riven noticed immediately. "What happened?"
Eli locked his phone, forcing a steady breath. "Nothing. Just… another conversation waiting."
Riven nodded slowly, understanding without needing details.
As they parted ways, Eli felt the familiar weight returning — but this time, it didn't crush him.
Because now he knew something he hadn't before.
Being tired didn't mean he was losing.
It just meant the fight mattered.
And somewhere ahead, beyond the silence and the fear, something was beginning to change.