Neither of them answered. His mother's mouth was a thin line. His father's hands were flat on the table, very still, and he was looking at Adriel with an expression Adriel had never seen on his face before; something cracked open, something that might have been shame.
"Because my guess," Adriel said quietly, "is no one."
He reached into his wallet. Took out enough to cover the bill, plus tip. Set it on the table. Then he turned and walked out of the restaurant.
He didn't look back.
∞∞∞
Later, Adriel went to Landen's apartment.
He didn't call ahead. Didn't text. He just walked from the restaurant, through the city streets, the whole way on autopilot. His legs moved, his feet found the path, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. Floating. Disconnected. Still replaying the look on his mother's face, his father’s silence, the words he'd said, the way it had felt to walk out that door and not look back.
By the time he reached Landen's building, his hands were shaking.
He took the stairs instead of the elevator, needing to move. By the time he reached Landen's floor, he was breathless, his heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.
He knocked and a few moments later the door opened.
Landen was there; rumpled, comfortable, clearly not expecting anyone. His hair was mussed, his shirt soft and worn, his feet bare. He started to say something, started to smile, and Adriel broke.
He rushed forward. Crashed into Landen's arms, wrapped himself around him, pressed his face into his neck. And then the tears came.
Landen's arms came up immediately. Wrapped around him tight. Held him steady.
"Hey," Landen said, his voice confused, worried. "Hey, baby, what's wrong? What happened?"
Adriel couldn't speak. Couldn't form words. Could only cling to him and cry, his whole body shaking with the force of it. The sounds that came out of him were ugly, wrecked, nothing like the composed man who had faced both his parents just an hour ago.
Landen's hand came up to the back of his head. Held him closer.
"Okay," Landen murmured. "Okay. It's okay. I've got you."
Adriel squeezed him harder.
Landen asked again, soft against his hair, "What's wrong? Talk to me."
Adriel shook his head. Couldn't. Not yet. The words were there, somewhere, buried under everything, but they wouldn't come. Wouldn't form. Wouldn't push past the tears.
Landen didn't push. He just held him. Let him cry. Let him fall apart right there in the doorway, not caring who might see, not caring about anything except keeping Adriel upright.
Eventually, he moved. Slowly, carefully, he guided them both inside, kicked the door shut behind them, and led Adriel to the living room couch. He sat down, pulled Adriel down with him, rearranged them until Adriel was curled against his chest, Landen's arms wrapped around him, one hand moving in slow circles on his back.
"Shh," Landen murmured. "I've got you. Just let it out."
Adriel did. He cried until there was nothing left. Until his throat burned and his eyes ached and his chest felt hollowed out. He cried for the ten-year-old who had been told the bullying was deserved. For the teenager who had walked through hallways with his head down, trying to be invisible. For the boy who had sat between two parents who couldn't stand each other and somehow found the one thing they agreed on; that their son wasn't enough.
He cried for all of it. And Landen held him through every second.
Some time later, minutes, hours, he couldn't tell, Adriel came back to himself.
The tears had slowed. Stopped. His breathing was evening out, still shaky but no longer gasping. He was aware, dimly, of the warmth of Landen's body beneath him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the hand still moving gently through his hair.
Landen's voice, soft above him said: "You back with me?"
Adriel nodded against his chest, to exhausted to say anything.
They stayed like that for a while longer. Adriel let himself exist in the warmth, in the safety, in the simple fact of being held.
