‡† The Unseen †‡

12 † Reciprocated †

Raven stared at him, startled by the edge in his voice. He still didn't get it. Didn't get why he just had to dump his problems on someone else like a weakling.

Still, he understood where Devon was coming from. Devon never wanted anyone to drag him out from under the dark cloud, didn't want anyone questioning his depravity and descent. He preferred it—being that way. But then he came in—calling him, questioning him, helping when he didn't ask for it. True, everyone had problems, but it felt.. wrong to not do something about it and—

Oh..

That realization cracked something open. It wasn't free, wasn't peaceful—actually, it was frightening, and Raven still didn't feel right showing so much vulnerability at once. But at least, now..

It spilled out. Not loud. Not bitter. Just a quiet list of weights too heavy for him. But that's just how things were.

Life's just not fair. I'm used to it. Life being 'not fair' I mean.

Raven sucked in breath, as if what he was about to say would be completed in one beat—in one simple breath.

“My mom’s sick. My dad’s in the hospital. The bills keep coming. I work every night at that restaurant. Rent’s late. Her pills cost more than we make. School’s costs and workload's swallowing me alive. Coach, well.. And I haven’t slept properly in weeks. I think that's all.. or so.”

He exhaled. He expected some kind of release—maybe a peace of some kind. That feeling that most patients claimed to have when they told their therapists about their innermost fears—the relief.

But he felt nothing. Not a shift of any kind.

He shrugged. “It's fine, though. I’m used to i—”

“Don’t you dare.”

Devon’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. His grip tightened slightly, eyes burning, not with anger—but with frustration and..

Fear?

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he whispered.

Raven blinked, taken aback. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The only sound was the breeze, and the echo of all the things neither of them had said for far too long.

Devon’s grip slowly loosened, but his eyes didn’t.

“How,” he muttered, voice low and rough, “how could you be used to something like this? And I know.. I know that's not all. Not even close..”

Raven’s shoulders sagged. He gave the same tired shrug, eyes slipping to the shadows on the pavement. What was he supposed to say to that? Even he didn't know—didn't know exactly what was affecting him. If he knew, he'd have dealt with it at least, but..

It wasn't just the stress—wasn't just the load. It was something more. Something.. he didn't know about.

He sighed, already sorry for Devon—he went ahead worrying for someone who didn't even know what was wrong with him. “I don’t know. I just… am.”

Devon’s jaw clenched again.

Raven didn't like that he was the one causing Devon such worry. It didn't sit well with him. No one was supposed to worry so much. And who knew all the other problems he hadn't told Raven about? “Sorry for making you worry—”

“Don’t say that either.” Devon’s voice cracked—not loud, but raw enough to cut through the stillness.

Raven blinked. W-What?