Dylan helped me into bed like I was something breakable. One hand on my back, the other guiding me down with care that felt rehearsed.

“There,” he said softly, like I’d just done something brave. “Just rest for a second.”

My whole body was still trembling. My legs felt hollow. My chest was tight, like there wasn’t enough space inside me for air and thoughts at the same time.

I closed my eyes, but the panic didn’t stop. It just got quieter, more private. The kind that echoes.

“Can I have them now?” I asked. My voice was barely there. “The pills.”

Dylan didn’t move at first.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle.

He turned it in his hand slowly, like he was considering something much heavier than what was actually inside.

But he didn’t give it to me.

“You don’t need this,” he said finally. “Not right now. What you need is to let your body calm down naturally. You need to feel what it’s telling you.”

I stared at him.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” I said.

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s why you should lie here. Let it pass. Don’t run from it.”

He didn’t put the bottle back in his pocket.

He just kept holding it. Loosely. Like it didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t watching it like a drowning person watches the surface.

“Dylan—”

“Just close your eyes,” he said, smoothing a hand over my hair again, the same way he had before. “Let your nervous system catch up. We can talk more when you wake up.”

I was too tired to argue.

But my eyes kept finding the bottle.

Still in his hand.

Still not mine.

It started like a memory.

Me and Lucas, maybe seven or eight, sitting in the backyard under a blanket fort made of bedsheets and lawn chairs. We had a flashlight, a pack of Oreos, and big plans — to stay up all night telling ghost stories.

Lucas’s hair was too long then, always falling in his eyes. Mine was a mess. But neither of us cared. We had juice boxes and terrible jokes. He laughed so hard he almost choked on a cookie.

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” I told him.

He grinned. “That’s because you’ve got me.”

The flashlight flickered.

And then everything changed.

The sheets were gone. The stars too. I was inside — somewhere louder. Darker.

A house. Music. A party.

I didn’t remember walking in, but I was here.

People moved around me like shadows. Their faces were blurred — mouths open like they were laughing or screaming, but no sound came out.

The air was thick. Like trying to breathe through a wet cloth.

The lights were too bright and too dim at the same time.

And I was drunk.

Or drugged.

The floor tilted under me. My limbs were heavy, and each step felt like walking through syrup. Every time I blinked, the room changed shape.

I turned. Dylan was there, standing by the counter.

Only, it wasn’t Dylan. Not really. His face was wrong. His eyes were dark, mouth curled like he knew something I didn’t.

He raised a red Solo cup to me — and smiled.

I backed away.

The room stretched like rubber.

Suddenly, I was in the kitchen again — or what I thought was the kitchen. Bottles lined the counters. Megan’s voice echoed from somewhere I couldn’t place. I saw her laughing, then flickering out like a dying candle.

I tried to speak. My mouth wouldn’t move right.

I tried to run. My legs didn’t work.

Then I was outside — or thought I was. The grass felt like carpet. The air wasn’t cool anymore, it was stifling. And everything smelled like smoke and plastic.

Lucas appeared at the edge of my vision.

His eyes locked on mine.

I wanted to move. To scream. To do anything but stand there.

But I couldn’t.

He walked toward me slowly, calmly, like I wasn’t even real.

I blinked—

And I was in a room again.

Lucas’s room.

Except this time, I wasn’t alone.

He was beside me. Sitting on the bed, watching. Quiet. Still.

I tried to speak, but my voice came out in reverse — like a tape playing backward.

His eyes softened.

He leaned forward.

And put his hand on my throat.

Not hard. Not choking.

Just resting there.

Like a threat.

Or a memory.

“Noah,” he whispered. “You always run.”

I couldn’t breathe.

The world started to collapse in on itself — light bending, sound twisting, shadows stretching long and thin across the floor.

Then a voice — not Lucas’s.

Dylan’s.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

The words echoed once.

And then everything went black.

—

I woke up with a jolt.

My chest seized like I’d been drowning. My whole body was damp with sweat. I couldn’t tell what time it was — just that the room was dim and silent, except for the rush of my own breathing in my ears.

I was still trembling.

My throat ached. My fists were clenched in the blanket like I’d been fighting something in my sleep.

Across the room, Dylan sat on the edge of his bed, watching me.

His posture was relaxed. His expression wasn’t.

“You had a bad dream,” he said, not like a question.

I nodded, barely.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t ask what it was about.

Just kept his eyes on me — sharp, steady, too calm.

The pill bottle was still in his hand.

Close.

But not mine.

I didn’t reach for it.

I didn’t even ask.

I just looked at him — and something in my chest gave out.

I wasn’t angry anymore.

I was just tired.

Tired of trying to explain myself.

Tired of remembering.

Tired of being scared and not even knowing why.

“Can I just…” My voice cracked. “Stay like this for a while?”

Dylan nodded. He didn’t smile. He didn’t gloat. He just stood and crossed the room.

He sat beside me on the bed again, same as before. His hand moved to my back, slow and rhythmic, like he was petting a dog — or testing how much I’d let him touch me.

I didn’t flinch this time.

I didn’t do anything.

He didn’t say “it’s okay.” He didn’t say “you’re safe.”

He just let the silence stretch, and I sank into it.

I let my eyes close.

And when I started crying again — quietly, without warning — he didn’t stop me.

He just kept his hand moving.

Like this was what he’d been waiting for.

I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep.

When I opened my eyes, Dylan was already sitting beside me, his hand moving in slow, rhythmic circles on my back. Soothing. Rehearsed.

The panic had faded, but something colder had taken its place. A kind of emptiness that hummed just beneath my skin.

I didn’t know what time it was. The window near Dylan’s bed glowed dim orange, like the sun had started to set.

He noticed I was awake but didn’t say anything.

Just kept tracing those circles.

My eyes drifted down to his other hand.

He was still holding the pill bottle.

I stared at it for a long time.

“Can I have them now?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

Dylan glanced at the bottle. Turned it slowly in his fingers. Thought about it.

But didn’t hand it over.

“You don’t need this right now,” he said gently. “Let your body work through it on its own.”

My chest tightened again.

“I feel like I’m floating out of myself.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “That’s just your system adjusting.”

He gave me a small smile. Reassuring. Practiced.

“I ordered dinner,” he said, changing the subject. “Pasta. Should be here any minute.”

I blinked at him.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You need to eat,” he said. “Even if you don’t feel like it. You’ll feel better after.”

His voice didn’t leave room for argument.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Dylan got up to answer it and returned with a plastic bag. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the room.

He handed me a container and a fork.

I held it like it might bite me.

“Just a few bites,” he said, sitting across from me again. “That’s all I ask.”

I forced down three forkfuls before I couldn’t anymore.

He didn’t push.

We sat in silence for a while after that, the tension in the room thick and strange.

Then came another knock.

Lighter. Faster.

Dylan stood again and opened the door.

Megan stepped inside, bright as ever.

“Hey, babe,” she said easily, walking straight past him. Her eyes flicked to me. “Oh. You’re here too.”

“Hi,” I said, awkward.

She sat on Dylan’s bed like it was hers. Like she’d been invited.

I stared at her, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

Megan — the girl who’d come on to me at the party. The one who was suddenly everywhere Dylan was.

She smiled at me like we were old friends.

“I saw you spiraling earlier,” she said. “You okay now?”

I hesitated. “You mean… at lunch?”

“Yeah.” She waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “I figured he’d talk you down.”

My stomach twisted.

Dylan sat beside her, calm as ever. She leaned against his shoulder slightly. He didn’t flinch.

I kept staring.

I remembered her trying to kiss me. Laughing with Dylan. Passing me a drink.

I didn’t understand their dynamic.

Didn’t understand why she was here.

Didn’t understand anything.

And then, as if it were completely normal, Dylan lifted a hand and ran his fingers through her blonde hair — slow, casual — like he was petting her.

And Megan… smiled. She actually smiled.

Then, still half-reclining against him, she leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

The moment passed like it was nothing.

But Dylan’s eyes never left me.

“You looked uncomfortable,” he said once she was gone. “When she kissed me.”

Heat rushed to my face. “I wasn’t— It’s not like that.”

“Relax,” he said calmly. “I’m not mad.”

“You jealous?” he asked.

I stared at him. “What? No. I mean—I don’t—”

“You can sleep with her if you want,” he said, like he was offering an extra slice of pizza. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

I blinked.

“I—what?”

“I’ve slept with her,” he added. “It’s not complicated.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“She likes you,” he continued. “Or at least… she responds to you.”

Responds.

I swallowed.

“I don’t think I want that,” I said quietly.

Dylan’s gaze sharpened — not angry. Curious.

“Have you ever?” he asked.

My heart picked up.

“…Ever what?”

“Been with someone,” he said. Then, softer: “Anyone.”

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t need to.

He smiled — small, knowing.

“You’re a virgin,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

I looked away.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Dylan said. “But it explains a lot.”

I didn’t ask what.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“I could help,” he said. “Make sure your first time is with someone safe.”

Safe.

That word again.

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the floor like it might offer me a way out.

“I’m tired,” I said.

Dylan nodded, like he’d expected that.

He didn’t touch me again.

Didn’t even move.

He just leaned back, hands in his lap, pill bottle still loosely in his fingers.

“Then rest,” he said. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”

I turned away.

Lay back down.

And let the silence swallow me whole.