My father pulled me in, hugging me to his chest. I buried my face in the warmth of his chest, face nuzzled against his thick sweater. "It's okay to not be okay. I won't judge you."
      "I know."
      He nodded, combing his hand through my hair. He coughed, shoulders tensing. "Is it . . . a boy?"
      The way he said it, as if he were struggling to pronounce the words, caused me to laugh. "Maybe. A little bit." I raised my head to face him before trailing off at the look he gave me. "Alright, yes. It's about a boy. I'm just thinking."
      He clicked his tongue. "What did he do?"
      "He didn't do anything." I laughed, shaking my head at his desire to not see me in a bad light. "It's more the people around him. They're all so cruel and he's just so kind and I don't know how to help him."
      I wiped away the tear trailing down my cheek before my father could catch sight of it. "I don't know what to do. I want to be around him but his family, his father, they're just so mean. The way he speaks, the way he had looked at me, at him—I don't know if I have it in me to stay quiet, to sit around and watch him be surrounded by people who don't appreciate him." 
      I bit my lip, fighting against the urge to look up at and face the expression on my father's face. "How do I help someone who doesn't want to be helped, papa? How do I show him that he's not to blame?"
      "Well," he started after a few moments of silence. " He must be quite the boy to be stuck in your mind like this."
      I released a wet laugh and nodded. He swallowed, hand tensing in my hair. "When I was young, much younger than I am now, I had gone through many trials. The career I had chosen was my passion, it was my dream, and through it I thought I had everything I wanted. When I was injured—"
      His breath hitched and I looked up but he wasn't looking at me, he was staring at my mother, her bright form as she helped Arianne bake cookies. He cleared his throat and began again, "when I was injured, I thought my life was over. I didn't want to do anything, see anyone, or be surrounded by my family. All I wanted to do was be alone. I was ashamed of myself to put it simply. And it was during that very dark time that your mother came in; she was like a light, a place of security that shielded me from hate."
      He smiled, eyes wispy. "She wasn't quiet. She spoke out against my father, my mother, anyone and anything. At times she was just there, a steady presence." He turned to me, cradling my face with his scarred hands. "You and your mother are very alike in that way. Outspoken and stubborn when you want to be. The monsters he faces need to be dealt by himself, but that doesn't mean that you can't help him. A warm presence goes a long way, my love."
      "But- what if he doesn't want my help?"
      My father wiped away my tears, squishing my cheeks together the moment my lip quivered. "If he's half obsessed with you as you are with him, all he'll want is you. Ugh. That took a lot—"
      I rolled my eyes as he began to shiver. " —but what I'm trying to say is that there is no way to help someone that doesn't want to be helped. Not until they begin to accept it. All you can do is lend a non-judging ear."
      I released a heavy sigh, eyes closed as I nodded. 
      "Who is he anyways? Everytime I ask your mother she gives me this look and tells me how she's disappointed that I haven't figured it out already."
      I giggled as I disentangled myself from my father's warm embrace, quickly making my escape as a way to avoid any oncoming uncomfortable questions.