Elias skidded to a stop just outside the restaurant, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. His bag hung awkwardly from one shoulder, its weight shifting with every labored inhale. He glanced at the glowing sign above the door: Villa Rossa, his mom’s favorite place for "family dinners," where the ambiance was fancy enough to make her feel special but not so extravagant that his dad complained about the bill.

The faint hum of laughter and clinking glasses filtered through the door, and Elias felt his stomach twist—not from the sprint, but from the inevitable looks of judgment waiting for him inside. He straightened up, wiped his hands on his jacket, and tried to smooth his hair into something less chaotic.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, stepping through the door.

The hostess gave him a quick once-over, her professional smile twitching as she took in his frazzled appearance. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, Veran family? Probably glaring at the clock and talking about how I’m terrible at time management?"

She blinked, then consulted the reservation list. "Right this way."

Elias followed her through the warmly lit dining area, weaving past couples and families engaged in cheerful conversation. He spotted his family before they saw him—his dad, scrolling on his phone, his mom sipping wine with the air of someone who was trying to enjoy herself despite being annoyed, his sister Emma looking as sharp and polished as ever in her white blouse, and Zach, leaning back in his chair with his usual calm, unbothered demeanor.

And then Emma spotted him.

"Well, well, well," she said, loud enough to turn a few heads. "Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

Elias winced. "Sorry, traffic was—"

"You walked here," Emma cut in, raising an eyebrow. "Try again."

Their mom set her glass down with a sigh. "Elias. Sweetheart. We said 7:00, didn’t we?"

"I know, I know," he said quickly, sliding into the empty chair and dropping his bag at his feet. "I lost track of time, but I’m here now. Crisis averted, right?"

His dad glanced up from his phone, his expression neutral but tinged with quiet disappointment. "This is why you set reminders. Technology exists for a reason."

"Noted," Elias mumbled, avoiding his dad’s gaze.

Zach gave him a sympathetic smile. "At least you made it. Emma was taking bets on whether you’d even show."

"I wasn’t betting," Emma said, smirking. "I already knew he’d be late."

Elias rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Emma."

The waiter arrived, breaking the tension with an overly cheerful greeting as he handed Elias a menu. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Water’s fine," Elias said, waving him off. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach anything else with the way his nerves were buzzing.

As the waiter left, the conversation shifted, but Elias couldn’t help noticing the way his mom’s eyes lingered on him, her expression flickering between pride and something heavier. It was the same look she’d given him at graduation—a mixture of I’m so proud of you and but now what?

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "how’s the job hunt going?"

Elias stiffened. Here it was. "It’s... going," he said vaguely, staring at his menu as if it held the answers to life’s biggest questions. "I’ve sent out a few applications. Still waiting to hear back."

His dad frowned slightly, setting his phone down. "It’s been a few months since you finished school, hasn’t it?"

"Six," Emma supplied helpfully, sipping her water.

"Thanks, Emma," Elias muttered, shooting her a look.

"She’s not wrong," Zach said gently. "You’ve got the degree now, man. You just need to put yourself out there. Companies are always looking for architects with fresh ideas."

"Exactly," their mom chimed in, her tone bordering on cheerful encouragement but edged with concern. "You have so much potential, Elias. We just want to see you succeed."

Elias forced a smile. "I’m working on it. I swear."

But the truth was, he wasn’t. Not really. The idea of interviews, of sitting across from someone who would measure his worth with a checklist of qualifications, made his chest tighten. What if they saw through him? What if they realized he wasn’t as good as his diploma made him seem?

The conversation moved on, shifting to Emma’s recent successes in the surgical ward—another life saved, another round of praise from her colleagues. Elias listened with half an ear, his thoughts spiraling into the familiar pit of self-doubt. His sister was a surgeon, for crying out loud. His brother was a civil engineer, designing bridges and buildings that actually existed in the real world. Meanwhile, Elias had a sketchbook full of dreams and no idea how to turn them into reality.

His knee bounced under the table, a nervous habit he couldn’t seem to break. He reached for his water, but his hand trembled just enough to make the glass clink against the table. He froze, setting it down quickly, hoping no one noticed.

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"You okay?" Zach asked quietly, leaning closer.

"Yeah," Elias said too quickly. "Just tired. Been working on a project."

Zach nodded, his expression kind but unreadable. Unlike Emma, who loved pointing out flaws like a sport, Zach had a way of making his concern feel less like an interrogation and more like a lifeline. Elias appreciated it, even if it didn’t fix the weight pressing on his chest.

As the food arrived, Elias tried to focus on the conversation, chiming in when necessary but mostly staying quiet. His mom asked Zach about his latest project—a community center—and Emma went on a tangent about the intricacies of a particularly challenging surgery. Elias nodded along, but the words felt distant, like he was watching a movie through frosted glass.

His mom’s voice cut through his haze. "Elias, what about you? Are you working on anything exciting?"

He blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. I’ve been sketching some new designs. Nothing major, just... ideas."

Her smile was warm but thin. "That’s wonderful, sweetheart. You’ve always been so creative."

The unspoken but hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Elias swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep eating even as his appetite disappeared. He didn’t blame her—or any of them, really. They just wanted what was best for him. But knowing that didn’t make the weight of their expectations any easier to bear.

As the dinner wound down, Elias excused himself to the restroom, splashing cold water on his face as he stared at his reflection. The guy in the mirror looked tired, older than twenty-two, with shadows under his eyes and a tension in his jaw that never seemed to go away.

He leaned on the sink, his hands gripping the edge. Get it together, he told himself. They’re just worried. You can’t blame them for that. But you’ve got to figure this out.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened up and headed back to the table. His family was gathering their things, the check already paid—probably by his dad, who had a habit of paying before anyone else could offer.

"You ready?" Zach asked, slinging his jacket over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Elias said, grabbing his bag. He smiled, the gesture small but genuine. "Let’s go."\

Elias followed his family out of the restaurant, the brisk night air washing over him like a much-needed wake-up call. The gentle hum of passing cars and the faint chatter of other diners created a comforting backdrop, though Elias couldn’t help but feel like the weight of dinner still lingered in the air.

His mom looped her arm through his dad’s, a soft smile on her face as they strolled ahead. Emma had her phone out, typing away furiously with a smirk that could only mean she was multitasking—probably catching up on work emails while also texting a friend about the "adventure" of waiting for Elias. Zach walked alongside Elias, hands in his pockets, his easygoing demeanor making the tension from earlier feel slightly less suffocating.

"You heading home?" Zach asked, glancing at him as they reached the parking lot.

"Yeah," Elias said, adjusting the strap of his bag. "Gonna try to get some more work done before I crash."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "Work? You mean your sketches?"

"Yeah. Why?"

His brother gave a small shrug. "Just wondering if you’re giving yourself a break. You’ve been looking a little... I don’t know, stretched thin lately."

"I’m fine," Elias said quickly, brushing off the comment. He didn’t want to unpack that here, now, in the middle of a parking lot where Emma would absolutely eavesdrop and turn it into a joke. "I’ve got stuff I want to finish. That’s all."

Zach hesitated but nodded. "Alright. Just don’t overdo it. You’re allowed to take a breather, you know."

Elias forced a grin. "Sure. Right after I figure out how to revolutionize modern architecture and convince someone to actually hire me."

Zach chuckled softly. "Fair enough."

"Can’t wait to see your ‘revolution,’" Emma called from a few feet ahead, not even looking up from her phone. "But maybe try starting with a job that doesn’t involve notebooks and daydreams."

"Thanks for the career advice, Dr. Veran," Elias shot back, though his tone was more playful than biting. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Emma snorted but didn’t respond, and Elias let out a quiet sigh of relief. It was easier to joke about it than to admit how much her words stung.

Their mom turned back toward them, her warm smile cutting through the chill of the evening. "Are you boys coming to brunch on Sunday? I’m making waffles."

"I’ll be there," Zach said immediately, giving their mom a quick hug before heading to his car. "See you then."

Elias nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I’ll come by. Thanks for dinner, Mom."

She reached up to straighten the collar of his jacket, the way she used to when he was a kid. "I’m glad you made it, even if you were late. And don’t let Emma get to you—she’s just teasing."

"Sure," Elias said, offering her a lopsided smile. "See you Sunday."

As his parents climbed into their car, Elias stood in the lot for a moment, watching the taillights disappear into the distance. Emma waved briefly before getting into her own car, and soon he was alone, the weight of the evening pressing down on him like an invisible hand.

He started walking, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet. His apartment wasn’t far, and the cool air helped clear his head, but the silence wasn’t kind. It left too much room for his thoughts to spiral.

They’re proud of you, he reminded himself, but the words rang hollow. Sure, they were proud that he’d finished school, proud of the shiny architecture degree hanging on his wall. But being proud of the degree wasn’t the same as being proud of him. Not when Emma was out there saving lives and Zach was building bridges while Elias sat in his cramped apartment, sketching things that might never exist.

He paused at a crosswalk, the red glow of the pedestrian light casting a shadow over his face. His knee bounced as he waited, an anxious habit he’d never been able to break. The feeling in his chest wasn’t new—it was a constant companion, this gnawing, restless energy that never let him sit still for long. He’d never put a name to it, but it had followed him for years, tugging at the edges of his mind, whispering doubts and fears he couldn’t quite shake.

The light turned green, and he crossed the street, trying to shake off the thoughts. You’re fine. You’re just tired. Get home, work for an hour, and call it a night.

But as much as he wanted to believe that, he knew it wasn’t true. He wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine in a long time. And no amount of sketching or caffeine or Charlie’s sandwiches was going to fix that.

By the time he reached his building, the familiar exhaustion had settled over him like a heavy coat. He climbed the stairs slowly, each step echoing in the quiet hallway, until he reached his door. His hand hesitated on the knob for a moment before he pushed it open, stepping inside.

The sight of his desk, covered in sketches and notebooks, should have been comforting—it was his sanctuary, the one place where his ideas could run free. But tonight, it felt overwhelming, the cluttered space a physical reminder of everything he hadn’t done.

He dropped his bag by the door and sank into his chair, staring at the half-finished drawing he’d left behind. The twisting spire seemed to mock him now, its impossible curves and delicate details a testament to his own inadequacy. He picked up his pencil, turning it over in his hands, but the thought of trying again felt like too much.

Instead, he leaned back, closing his eyes. The quiet buzz of the city filtered through the window, and for a moment, he let himself drift, the weight of the evening pressing down on him until it was all he could feel.