There’s a soft swell of something in his chest at something that feels like commiseration from someone who isn’t a Hargreeves. And it just makes it different somehow. That second of being seen by someone who wasn’t trapped in your same hellscape alongside you.

“It sucks. I hate him, I’ve hated him for so long it’s hard to think I could feel anything else, but I did.” A beat passes and he corrects, “I do... I just wanted him to see me for... more than just my misses, you know?”

His voice drops down low, little more than a whisper, “We were just kids... little kids who wanted our Dad’s attention. Instead of feeding into the demand, he starved us of it completely...” And it wasn’t fair. It was never fair.