Terrence sat curled into the couch, notebook balanced on the armrest, pen moving steadily across the page. The living room was too quiet—quiet enough that he could hear the soft ticking of the clock above the mantel. Despite the whole family being here, it felt like he was the only one in the room. He wished there was a TV, or at least some noise to distract him. Instead, it was homework and more homework. Still, the couch was comfortable—surprisingly so—and that alone made this the best study spot in the whole house.

He smirked to himself as he scratched in the final answer.

Look at that, Dolores, he thought, letting the name bite at the edge of his brain like an old bruise. I’m not slow. Not acting out. And apparently, I’m not a lost cause.

He pressed his pen a little too hard on the next letter.

Guess I am doing something with my life, huh? Look at me go.

The sarcasm helped. It always did. But even he could tell the edges of it were duller now—less sharp, more tired. Dolores had always spoken to him like his future was a ticking time bomb. Always calling him out in front of the class. Always with that condescending tone, like he couldn’t hear the judgment dripping from every word.

You're bright, but unfocused.
You're clever, but lazy.
You're angry, Terrence, and no one wants to work with angry.

It stuck with him. Not just the words, but the way she said them—like she already knew he’d burn out, and she was just waiting for the smoke.

Mrs. Grantham was different. Stricter, sure. Cold in the way you expect a teacher to be. But she didn’t write him off. She didn’t speak like his effort was pointless. When she said get it done, she meant because you can. She handed back his tests without commentary, just a nod. Sometimes that was worse—more honest. She never sugarcoated anything, but she didn’t humiliate him either. She didn’t treat him like a problem.

Dolores had always wanted to fix him into something quieter. Smaller.

Mrs. Grantham? She just wanted the work done. And maybe, somewhere behind those sharp instructions and pinched expressions, she respected that he wasn’t smaller.

It was subtle. Barely there. But it meant everything.

Maybe that’s why her approval hit harder. Why getting his phone back—because she said he’d earned it—felt like something more than a reward. It felt like a release.

Like maybe he wasn’t doomed to fall apart after all.

His jaw tensed. He hated that they took up space in his head.

A soft voice cut through the fog.

“So, Terrence,” Mrs. Verlice said gently from across the room. “What did you think about Augustin and Genevieve’s practice? Interested in joining? Interested in doing anything? We’ll support you.”

Terrence looked up slowly. His expression was unreadable for a second, then he cracked a wry, crooked smile.

“I mean... it was impressive,” he said, tone casual, but not dismissive. “Genevieve looked like she could float right out the window if she wanted to. I didn’t even know ankles could move like that without snapping.”

Genevieve let out a short laugh, shaking her head with mock exasperation.

“And Augustin,” Terrence continued, eyes flicking toward him. “I’ve never seen someone stab the air that dramatically and still look like they’re solving a math problem in their head at the same time. I didn’t know fencing was so... graceful. And aggressive. A very charming combo.”

Mr. Verlice chuckled under his breath, and even Augustin gave the faintest amused snort, though he tried to play it off with a shrug.

Terrence leaned back into the couch, arms loosely crossed, still holding on to the edge of that crooked grin. “I don’t think I’ve got the thighs for ballet, or the temperament for sword-fighting. But watching you two? Kinda makes me wish I did.”

The words surprised even him a little as they left his mouth. There was something real tucked behind them—something he wasn’t trying to hide, not this time.

Genevieve smiled, and Augustin, though quiet as always, nodded in acknowledgement, his expression unreadable but not cold.

Mrs. Verlice beamed. “Well, that’s something,” she said, her voice warm. “You’re paying attention. That’s more than most people do.”

Terrence shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal—but his eyes had that distant glint again. The kind people get when they’re not used to being proud of anyone, let alone themselves.

Mr. Verlice chuckled. “Well, it’s good to hear you say anything positive. Especially about ballet. That’s a first.”

“We also heard you’ve been doing well in your classes,” he added with a proud nod. “Really, good job.”

Terrence lifted one shoulder in a shrug, already looking back down at his notebook. “Didn’t really have a choice, did I?” he muttered. “It’s either that or sit around all day doing nothing.” But the truth was, he had tried. Harder than he ever had before. And it felt... weird to be noticed for it. Like it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, and somehow it was.

A quiet beat passed. The kind that lingers, just a little too long. Then Mr. Verlice spoke again.

“Well,” he said, glancing over at the other couch. “You two didn’t forget, did you? You said you had something for Terrence.”

Genevieve and Augustin looked up, not startled exactly—but alert, like they’d been quietly waiting for this moment. Augustin blinked, then let out a slow breath through his nose, almost like he’d been holding it. He shifted forward on the couch, brushing a hand across the back of his neck before ruffling his hair in one absent, slightly awkward motion. Then he looked at Terrence—briefly, almost unsure—but didn’t look away.

He didn’t speak at first. Just nodded toward Genevieve, a silent cue.

“Yeah, uh... give us a sec,” he said, voice low.

He reached behind the couch cushion and pulled out something wrapped in bubble wrap and cardboard. Beside him, Genevieve moved in sync, leaning forward to gather a small box and a plastic bag from the side table. Her movements were precise but careful—like handling something fragile, not just the objects but maybe the moment itself.

No one said much. No one rushed. There was no big speech, no buildup. Just some awkward shifting and quiet intent, like they were trying to do this right without making it too much.

Augustin held up the first item: a new skateboard. Black deck, silver trucks, with a clean finish that still smelled faintly like fresh paint. 

“We couldn’t fix your old one,” he said, his tone low and casual. “It was pretty wrecked, so we... got you a new one. Same size, more or less.”

Terrence blinked. His brain didn’t quite catch up with his eyes.

Genevieve offered him the plastic bag next. “There’s junk food in here. Stuff you mentioned you missed. Chips, gummy worms... a burger from that place near the school. And there’s Coke—with ice.” She looked at him a little more directly then, her voice softening. “We remembered.”

He stared. Not at them—just at the bag, and then the board. It was like his lungs forgot how to work.

Augustin held up the final item: Terrence’s phone. “We, uh... we didn’t go through it. I promise. Mrs. Grantham said you were doing well and said it was time you got it back. Took us a while to... figure out how to give it to you without it being weird.”

He placed the phone down gently on the cushion between them. “It’s charged.”

Terrence didn’t move. His mouth parted slightly, but nothing came out. The air around him felt too thick to breathe. His hands, still ink-stained from his homework, twitched against his jeans.

He looked down at the items again. New. Clean. Carefully chosen. For him.

His chest tightened. He tried to blink it away, but it was already happening.

His face flushed deep, color rising against his tan skin. His eyes—those bright aquamarine blue eyes—glossed over, lashes wet as he looked away sharply, pulling the sleeve of his hoodie up to hide his expression.

Not now. Not in front of them. He couldn’t.

But the tears still welled, quiet and slow, like something had finally cracked in him and was letting everything leak out.

They didn’t expect this. No one did.

Mrs. Verlice’s brows lifted in alarm, hand instinctively going to her chest. “Oh—sweetheart,” she whispered, almost too softly.

Mr. Verlice looked equally stunned, leaning forward in his chair as if unsure whether to speak or give him space.

Genevieve stopped mid-breath, lips parted, uncertain. Augustin, silent, rubbed the back of his neck again, gaze lowered—not out of guilt, but to give Terrence the dignity of his silence.

“I’m fine,” Terrence said quickly, voice strained and thin, still hiding his face. “It’s just—” But he didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t.

It was too much.
The new board. The junk food. The phone.
But more than that—it was what they meant.

He didn’t know how to process kindness like this. Not without expecting something in return. Not without flinching from the idea of being wanted without a punchline.

He’d spent so long building up armor—sarcasm, distance, that biting wit. Dolores had drilled it into him: You’re angry, Terrence. No one sticks around for angry.

And yet here he was. Surrounded by people who hadn’t left. Who gave him coke with ice.

The silence was thick—but not uncomfortable. It was careful. Protective.

Mrs. Verlice moved first. Not to hug him, not to hover—just shifted a little closer on the other end of the couch, her presence quiet but steady. “We didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” she said gently. “We just wanted you to have some things that were yours again.”

Next to him, Augustin didn’t speak right away, but he didn’t pull back either. His elbow brushed Terrence’s lightly as he sat forward, not looking directly at him, but not avoiding him either. Just there. Solid. Like the gesture itself was the point.

“We figured... it might help,” Augustin said finally, voice low. “Even if it’s just junk food and a board. It’s not much, but—it’s yours.”

Terrence swallowed hard. He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t even know if he could respond right now. But the message was clear.

Mr. Verlice had said it in the beginning: they’d thought about him. Not as a project. Not as a burden.
Terrence hadn’t been sure what to make of it then, but now, as he sat there, it felt different. Maybe it was true. Maybe they really did see him that way.

As someone worth the effort.

Terrence exhaled, the breath catching slightly on the way out. His hand came up to swipe at his face, rough and quick, like he could erase the heat from his cheeks before anyone noticed. He gave a short, breathy laugh—half embarrassment, half disbelief.

“You guys are so weird,” he muttered, voice thick but still carrying that familiar edge.

Mr. Verlice grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Takes one to know one.”

Augustin gave a quiet smirk, his eyes flicking away like he wasn’t about to smile but couldn’t help it. Genevieve let out a soft laugh—nervous at first, but it settled into something lighter, something warm.

Terrence didn’t meet any of their eyes. He just nodded once, subtle, like he was trying not to make too big a deal out of the way his chest felt too full. His hand drifted down to the skateboard, fingers brushing the grip tape. It was coarse and clean beneath his touch—real. Tangible.

And something shifted. Not loud. Not showy. Just... there. Like a window had been cracked open in a room he didn’t know he’d been locked inside.

For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he had to be clever. Or guarded. Or anything other than just... here.

Not fixed. But maybe—maybe—seen.