His breathing hadn't evened out. His body hadn't stopped trembling. But for a split second—he was here. Not trapped in the past. Not spiraling. Just… here. Then it all shattered. It started slow. A twitch in his fingers. A flicker of something in his eyes—not relief. Not safety. Something more fragile. More dangerous. And then—he folded. Not like before. Not in panic, not in anger. But in exhaustion.
Like his body had finally caught up with his mind. He slumped forward before I could even react. Hisforeheadcollidedwithmyshoulder. Not hard. Not intentional. Like he couldn't hold himself up anymore. I froze. Because—what was I supposed to do? What was I supposed to say to someone who never—never—let himself fallapart?
"It's over," I said. It wasn't enough, but it was all I had. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Just… breathed. Shaky. Uneven. Like he was barely hanging on.
And then— A laugh. Small. Hollow. Wrong. "You think it's over?" His voice was wrecked, raw from whatever battle was still raging in his head. I swallowed. Didn't let go. "He's gone." Another laugh. Worse this time. "He doesn't have to be here to be everywhere." And god. I hated how much I understood what he meant. I hated that he was right. But I didn't say that. I couldn't. Because right now— He needed something else.
So I just—held on. Not tight. Not forceful. Just enough to remind him— He was still here. And I wasn't going anywhere.
"Come on." My voice barely came out. I didn't know who I was pleading with—him, myself, whatever was keeping him like this. His pulse was weak. His body, heavy against me, felt like it was slipping further, like he was falling into something I couldn't reach. I wasn't even sure why I was still here.
Why did I care? He was barely even a part of my life. A few days. That's all it had been. And yet, here I was. Holding him. Something bitter rose in my throat. I could walk away. I should walk away. But— "You matter." The memory slammed into me so hard I swayed. The way he had said it—not like it was some passing comment. Like he believed it. Like he needed me to believe it. Even when his own voice shook.
Even when he could barely stand. Even when he was terrified. He still tried to keep me away. To keep me safe. And now— Now, he wasn't moving.This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. "You—" I pressed my forehead against his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut. My chest was too tight. My heart was pounding too hard. "You don't get to do this." My voice broke. "You don't get to say that to me and then—then just—just leave." Silence. I forced in a breath, but it felt wrong. I pulled back, grabbing his face. His skin was cold, his breathing so shallow I could barely feel it. Too pale. Too still. No. No. I shook him again.
"Stay with me." Nothing. He wasn't hearing me. And suddenly, it hit me all at once. That feeling. That horrible, clawing feeling. I had never met anyone like him. Not once. Someone who didn't try to push me into their mold. Someone who didn't expect me to be something I wasn't. Someone who—despite everything—still looked at me like I was real. And now— Now he was slipping away right in front of me. I let out a breath, shaky and uneven, and pressed my hand against his chest. "You hear me?" My voice dropped to a whisper, but it felt louder than a scream. "I'm not letting you go." I won't.
His body felt like dead weight in my arms, breaths too shallow, skin too cold. Panic scraped against my ribs. "I'm not letting you go." The words had left my mouth, but they weren't enough. They weren't reaching him. My grip tightened, my fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if that alone could anchor him here. As if I could force him to stay. "Come on." My voice wavered. I swallowed hard, trying to steady it. Trying to steady myself. Nothing. The emptiness was unbearable. A choked breath caught in my throat.
My chest ached. Too tight. Too much.
"You always have so much to say." My laugh was brittle, hollow. It hurt. "So say something." Still, nothing. I hated this feeling. The helplessness. The awful,
gut-wrenching thought that—what if I was already too late? No. No, I wasn't. I wouldn't be. Not this time. I pressed my forehead against his, my breath warm against his chilled skin. "I know you're still in there." I whispered. Begged. He didn't react.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing down the sharp sting behind them. He wouldn't just leave like this. Not after everything. Not after— "You matter." The memory hit like a fist to the ribs. That same voice, shaking but certain. That same look in his eyes. Like he had been trying to tell me something more. Something he couldn't say out loud. Something I hadn't understood until now.
"So do you." I whispered. And this time, I swore—Iswore I felt him stir.
But then— "How touching." The voice sliced through the silence like a blade. I froze. Slowly, I turned my head. He was still there. Standing just beyond the doorway, half-shrouded in shadow. Watching. He had never left. My breath hitched, my body tensing as instinct screamed at me to run. But I didn't. I couldn't. Not when he was still in my arms, still barely clinging to consciousness.