VIVIAN'S POV
Adam doesn’t smile.
Not really. Not fully.
But for the briefest moment, something in his expression softens—like a crack in carefully built armor. Like the first hint of warmth in the middle of winter.
And for some reason, it makes my chest ache.
We continue walking, silence stretching between us. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t exactly easy either. Adam’s steps are measured, deliberate. Mine feel lighter, as if I’m still waiting for him to say something, anything, to break the quiet.
He doesn’t.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. His jaw is set, his grip on his cane firm, but I notice the way his fingers flex, like he’s trying to shake off something lingering beneath his skin.
Like he’s trying not to feel.
I clear my throat. “Do they bother you often?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, finally, “Not as often as they used to.”
I frown. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
A ghost of a smirk touches his lips, but it disappears as quickly as it comes. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
I exhale through my nose, frustration simmering beneath my ribs. How is he so… calm about this? How does he just take it?
I crossed my arms. “You don’t have to just take it, you know.”
Adam doesn’t stop walking, but I see his fingers tighten slightly around his cane. “I’m not ‘just taking it.’”
“Feels like you are.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me understand.”
A pause. He presses his lips together like he’s weighing his words, like he wants to say something but knows it won’t make a difference.
Finally, he exhales. “It’s not about letting them get away with it. It’s about knowing they don’t care if they do.”
I frown. “That doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
“No,” he agrees. “It just means it’s reality.”
I stare at him, frustration bubbling beneath my skin. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he believes that, or the fact that he’s probably right.
“People like them,” Adam continues, voice even, “don’t care about consequences. They do what they do because they can. Because no one stops them. Because they know no one really will.”
His words shouldn’t feel as heavy as they do.
I swallow, shifting my gaze ahead. “That’s a pretty bleak way to look at the world.”
He doesn’t respond right away.
Then, quietly, he says, “It’s not the way I look at the world. It’s the way it looks at me.”
Something in my chest twists.
I stop walking, turning fully to face him. He doesn’t stop right away, but when he does, he seems… hesitant. Like he doesn’t know what to do with my silence.
I inhale deeply. “I don’t think the world is as cruel as you believe it to be.”
He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Then you haven’t lived in mine.”
His words settle between us, heavy, unmovable.
I want to argue. I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to carry this weight alone. But I get the feeling that he wouldn’t believe me, no matter what I said.
So instead, I say, “I’m still making this my problem, you know.”
A beat of silence.
Then, finally, Adam lets out a quiet, almost exasperated breath. “Of course you are.”
I grin, nudging him lightly. “Good. Just making sure we’re clear on that.”
He shakes his head, but this time, I swear—there’s the slightest trace of something amused in his expression.
And even if he doesn’t realize it, I think he’s starting to let me in.
Little by little.
Even if he’s not ready to admit it yet.