He lifted his head then, and the sight of him stopped you cold. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, his cheeks wet, and his hand was pressed so hard over his mouth that his knuckles had gone white. The laptop screen was still lit, and you recognized the familiar blue-and-white layout of your message app.

He stood up. The movement was deliberate, measured, as if he was having to remind himself how to use his legs.

His voice cracked on the last word, and something in his expression shifted, hurt bleeding into something harder.

He gestured at the laptop, his hand shaking.