"Part of the reason I didn't wanna come home," Aaron starts, "Is because of my parents. They were just never proud of me, you know? For anything. I only tried hard in school for them, to get a 'good job,' a pat on the back even, but they just..." He laughs, bitterness coating his tongue.

"They didn't care. All they knew was ridiculing, and comparing me to Ashton. Just the constant yelling, and screaming, I didn't wanna come back to it. And I was too embarrassed to tell you that. It felt stupid to complain, especially after you told me about everything you've been through. My problems felt insignificant in comparison."

I can almost imagine it now, young Aaron—the Aaron I knew since we were kids. The one that always wanted to one-up me, the one that was always quick with a rebuttal, he was hurting. He only did it because he was hurting.

I wish I could go back, and hug him. I wish I could tell him that things would work out, that what he felt was valid, but I can't. I can't, and it kills me that the boy that had smirks constantly marring his face was really just masking frowns.

Maybe we all do that, though. Maybe we're all hiding monsters in the closet, praying we'll find someone that'll help guide them out.

"And the other reason I didn't wanna come," he finally looks at me again, "Is because my parents looked into you, and your family. For my own good, apparently, and they told me if I were to be with you, you'd have to reconcile with your dad." He sighs, pausing a moment. " I was gonna tell you all this the first day we came here, but my mom had already made you upset, and I don't know-"

"Hey," I get closer to his face, and kiss him, staying there a moment as I let him calm down from all the emotion he must be feeling. "I get it. And for the record, Aaron, your problems were, and never are insignificant."

I can feel my eyes stinging of sympathy, and instead of saying anything he wraps me in an embrace, a whisper of a "Thank you," reaching my ear.