Everything was too still.
I watched the way his fingers curled and uncurled in the blanket, like he was trying to ground himself, like he wasn't entirely sure where he was.
Or whowaswatching.
He hadn't spoken again.
Not since that warning.
" You shouldn't be here "
" Nothing that concerns you "
It sat in my mind like something rotten, like something I wasn't supposed to know.
But he had said it.
And now I did.
A deep shudder rolled through him, and he winced—like the pain had finally caught up. Like his body was remembering all at once what his mind had forced it to ignore.
I hesitated before shifting closer.
He didn't flinch this time.
Didn't move at all.
I wasn't sure if that was better or worse.
Minutes passed.
He was still too awake, his breath still catching every so often, his jaw still locked like he was bracing for something.
He wasn't going to sleep.
Not like this.
Not while his body was still braced for impact.
So I did something I shouldn't have.
I reached out.
Just barely.
Just enough for my fingers to brush against his wrist where it had started to bruise.
His breathing hitched.
But he didn't pull away.
I wasn't sure why, but I stayed like that.
And eventually, his fingers unclenched.
Not much.
Just enough.
Then, softer than I meant to, I murmured, "You're okay."
A lie, probably.
But his breath slowed. Just a little.
I exhaled, adjusting the blanket over him, tucking it closer. His body was still too tense, but his grip, at some point, had shifted—his fingers now loosely curled over the sleeve of my hoodie.
Like he needed something to hold on to.
I didn't move away.
Not when his eyelids drooped.
Not when his breath finally evened out.
And when I finally risked a glance at him—
His eyes were still half-open.
Still watching.
I didn't say anything.
Neither did he.
But when his grip on my sleeve tightened, just barely—
I let him.
Seconds bled into minutes.
Minutes into something slower.
And at some point, I let my head tip back against the wall.
The exhaustion dragging me down faster than I could fight it.
Outside, the clock on his desk clicked forward.
3:00 AM.
And the night held us both in its silence.