A sharp breath. A slight shift in the air.
Someone was there.
I barely registered it, barely noticed the shadow that stretched against the lockers beside me. My vision was still swimming, my pulse still erratic. The world felt unsteady beneath me.
I pressed my palms harder against the cold metal, forcing myself to stay upright. But my legs— they weren't listening. My fingers trembled. My breaths came too short, too shallow. The floor swayed. I was going to fall.
Then—
A hand.
His hand
Not rough. Not forceful. Just there. A steady grip against my wrist, the warmth of fingers wrapping around mine, anchoring me before I tipped over completely.
I barely had the strength to flinch.
Iknew who it was before I looked.
Even in my haze, I felt it—his presence.
Not just near me. Watching me.
He had been for days.
But now he wasn't just watching.
He was here. Close enough that I could feel his body heat, close enough that his grip on my wrist was the only thing keeping me from collapsing.
I couldn't think. Couldn't react. My limbs weren't working, my throat too tight to force out words.
I should've shoved him away. Should've said something, anything.
But I didn't.
Couldn't.
Because the moment my knees finally buckled—
He caught me.
I hated it.
Hated the way my body gave up before my mind could protest. Hated the way he moved so easily, like he had already accounted for this moment, like he had known exactly when to reach out—exactly when I would fall. I wanted to pull away.But I couldn't.His grip was firm, steady. Not forceful, not demanding—just unshakable.
The world spun again, and I barely realized when my back met the lockers, his arm keeping me from sliding to the ground completely. My breathing was still uneven, my head still too light.
He didn't speak.
Neither did I.
Seconds stretched.
His fingers, still around my wrist, didn't loosen. His eyes—dark, unreadable—never left my face.
He was waiting.
For me to snap at him. For me to run. For me to do something.
But I was too exhausted. Too drained. Too far past the point of caring if this was a mistake.
I let my head tip back against the locker. Closed my eyes.
And for the first time in days—
I didn't fight it. Didn't fight him.