My hand covers my mouth, eyes wide from shock.
“I stepped in right after...” He squeezes his eyes closed.
I slide closer, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
He tugs me into his arms, holding me tight.
“It made me hate my mother,” he whispers against my hair. “I blamed her for being hard on him. For pushing. For not stopping.”
His jaw clenches so tightly I can hear it.
“I blamed myself,” he says, quieter. “Because I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t understand depression. I just… thought he was giving up. And then he?—”
He breaks off, breath shuddering.
“I was too late,” he finishes in a whisper.
Silence falls, thick and brutal.
I don’t fill it.
I let him have it.
Sebastian pulls back. He stares down at our joined hands like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored to the present.
“I decided something after that,” he says.
He lifts his gaze, and my heart aches at the wreckage in his eyes. “What?”
“I decided love is a trap,” he says softly. “That closeness is a liability. That if you need someone, you give them the power to destroy you.”
His voice drops, almost ashamed. “I learned to be the one who doesn’t need.”
My throat tightens.
“And then you showed up,” he murmurs, the words almost disbelieving. “And you didn’t ask permission. You didn’t wait for me to be ready. You just…”
He swallows, his eyes on the comforter.
“You stayed,” he says.
Mr. Pickles purrs like punctuation.
I reach up slowly and touch Sebastian’s cheek, forcing him to look at me. “I stayed because I see you,” I whisper.
His breath catches.
“And because I’m stubborn,” I add, because I’m me, and I refuse to let him drown in the darkness without a rope.
A flicker of a smile curls his lips. But his eyes stay serious. “I pulled away after we—” he begins.
“After you panicked,” I correct gently.
He flinches. “After I panicked,” he agrees, like the admission costs him.
He leans forward slightly, forehead almost touching mine. “I thought if I created distance,” he whispers, “I could make it stop.”
I swallow. “Make what stop?”
