The song shifted again—back to something heavier, faster. The lights strobed white and violet. I blinked against the sudden brightness, still held in the warmth of Tristan's arms, but the moment had passed.
Reality crept in like fog under a door.
Tristan pulled out his phone and looked at the time, he showed me: 12:26.
His voice was soft, barely heard above the bass. "Want to get out of here? I'll walk you home?"
I looked up at him, heart still thudding.
"Yeah," I breathed. "I'd like that."
We slipped through the crowd, weaving between sweating bodies and spilled drinks, still close. As we approached our booth, Chloe spotted us first, eyes flicking between our joined hands and my flushed face. She nudged Lizzie.
"We're gonna head out," I said, brushing my hair back. "He's walking me home."
Chloe raised an eyebrow, but her smirk was gentle. "Text us when you're safe."
Lizzie grinned widely. "Take the long way. Breathe it in."
Blake, now sipping a soda and watching us quietly, gave a small nod. "You good?"
I met his eyes. "I will be."
Tristan gave them all a polite, quiet nod—just enough to show respect without words—and then gently guided me toward the door.
The music chased us all the way out, muffled slightly by the thick warehouse walls. Fog spilled across our boots as we stepped into the night. The air was cooler now, less heavy, like the city had finally exhaled.
We didn't speak for the first few steps. But our hands never let go.
The night wrapped around us like velvet—quiet and warm, the pavement still holding the heat of the day. Shattered's thudding bass faded behind us, replaced by the distant hum of cars and the soft whisper of wind through the trees that lined the sidewalk.
We walked side by side, our fingers still laced, but neither of us in a rush to speak. Streetlights cast golden halos on the concrete. Somewhere far off, a dog barked, followed by laughter that didn't belong to us.
It was the quiet that invited confessions. A slight chill prickled along my skin, as if the night itself held its breath. The air was heavy with expectation, anticipation crackling around us. I sensed a subtle shift; the ambience had changed. An off-key note seemed to hang in the air, a quiet omen of vulnerability waiting to surface.
"I should warn you," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm kind of a mess."
Tristan glanced at me, his expression calm. "You don't have to warn me."
"I do." My thumb rubbed against the side of his hand. "Because I don't know how to do this. Any of this. Not really."
He didn't let go. Didn't flinch. Just listened.
"I've been in survival mode for so long that I don't know what it means to feel safe and not second-guess it." I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a familiar sensation clawing its way up to my throat, making it hard to breathe. I stared ahead, watching our shadows stretch across the sidewalk.
"I keep waiting for the moment the kindness turns. For the trap."
Tristan's voice was quiet, grounded. "Because that's what happened before."
I nodded. "Yeah. With Eric, it... It did start out nice. At least, I thought it did. The charm, the attention, the way he made me feel chosen."
I took a breath.
"But even in those early days, something always felt... off. Like I was trying to feel something that wasn't fully there. Like I was performing happiness instead of living in it." My throat tightened. "It felt good—but it also felt hollow. Like I was always reaching for something just out of reach."
We stopped at a crosswalk. The red hand blinked across the street.
Tristan looked at me, full-on this time. "That sounds exhausting."
"It was," I said, voice quiet. "He made it seem like I had everything, but I was always scared of losing it because it was only mine if I behaved the right way. Said the right things. Needed him just enough, but not too much."
The light turned. We crossed.
He let the silence stretch—not awkward, not pressured—just space.
"I don't want to need someone," I said after a moment. My shoulders dropped slightly, releasing a weight I hadn't realized I was carrying.
"This...this needs to be real, not just some trauma echo I'm mistaking for safety."
Tristan listened in silence, his eyes searching mine, letting my hesitation linger in the air.
"I just want to be where you are," he said finally.
My chest pulled tight. "But what if I don't know how to be a good partner anymore? What if I'm too reactive? Too afraid? What if I ruin something good just because I've forgotten what it's supposed to feel like?"
"Then we figure it out. Together."
We walked a few more steps.
"You keep saying that," I whispered. "Together."
"Because healing doesn't mean doing everything alone. Sometimes it just means letting someone walk beside you without carrying your weight for you."
I slowed my steps. "What if I don't know how to be held without bracing for pain?"
"Then I'll keep showing you how," he said. "One moment at a time."
The words hit something deep in me—something soft I'd kept guarded for so long it had calloused over.
We reached the corner near my street. The one with the ivy-covered fence and the crooked mailbox that had always leaned slightly to the left, as if it were tired of standing straight.
I stopped and turned to face him fully.
"You're saying all the right things," I said, voice thin. "And part of me wants to believe it so badly. But I'm terrified. Of needing too much. Of being too much."
Tristan stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, but not touching me. Not unless I asked.
"You're not too much," he said softly. "You were just with someone who made you feel small so he could feel big."
My breath caught.
"I'm not asking for perfect, Winter," he added. "I'm asking for honest. If all you can give me right now is this—walking home under streetlights and trying to figure it out—that's more than enough."
Something inside me cracked open. Not in a way that broke me. In a way that let the light in.
I took a shaky breath, then reached up, fingers brushing the collar of his jacket. He didn't move. Just watched me like I was something sacred.
"I don't know what this is yet," I whispered. "But I want to find out."
A smile—soft and real—tilted at the corners of his mouth.
"Me too."
Not possession. Not expectation. Just presence.
Just… peace.
I leaned in slowly, letting myself feel every inch of space between us disappear. My forehead rested lightly against his chest. His arms came around me—careful, warm, steady.
After a moment, I tilted my head back to look at him.
"You left your hoodie in my room," I said quietly. "If you want, I can go grab it and bring it down for you before you leave."
He shook his head, that same faint smile deepening. "Keep it."
I blinked. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he said, voice low. "I want you to have it."
Something in my chest ached at that. Not because I needed the hoodie, but because it felt like more than just fabric—it felt like trust.
We stood like that for a long moment under the streetlamp, the city buzzing gently around us—no big declarations. No rush.
Just two broken people choosing softness instead of silence.
When I finally stepped back, his fingers stayed loosely curled around mine.
"I'll text you when I get home," he said.
"Good," I murmured. "I'll wait up."
And for once, I didn't feel guilty for needing someone.
I felt safe. I felt seen. I felt—maybe for the first time—that I wasn't alone in the dark.
The door clicked shut behind me with a soft finality. I stood in the dark for a long second, letting the quiet settle around me.
No music. No shouting. No bass pulsing through the floor.
Just silence.
But not the heavy, suffocating kind I'd grown used to. This one felt… clean like the air after a storm.
I leaned against the door, breath catching in my throat.
He didn't kiss me.
He didn't push.
He just walked me home like it meant something. Like I meant something.
The quiet inside my room used to be a trap—an echo chamber for every fear I hadn't voiced. The kind of quiet that made me feel small. Made me spiral. Made me want to crawl out of my own skin.
But tonight, it felt like a pause.
A breath.
I kicked off my boots and crossed the room, dropping onto the edge of my bed. My dress clung to my skin with leftover heat and sweat and fog from the club, but I didn't care. I just sat there, blinking into the soft dark like maybe it held answers.
Tristan had looked at me like I was allowed to take up space. Like I wasn't something fragile to fix, or something broken to abandon. Just… a person. Worth listening to. Worth walking home in the dark for.
Minutes crawled by, each one stretching longer than it should, as I waited for Tristan to let me know he'd made it home.
Finally, my phone chimed.
A new notification lit up the screen—Tristan.
Home safe.
My chest loosened a little. I typed back before I could overthink it:
Good.
His reply came seconds later:
Sleep well, Winter. You're safe now.
I stared at the words, blinking hard.
Safe.
It felt unreal to have someone say that without needing anything in return, without demanding affection, and without guilt-tripping me into being something smaller, not trying to spin my comfort into leverage.
Just care. Simple. Steady.
I set the phone down and curled onto my side, knees drawn to my chest. My bed still smelled faintly like the old detergent Eric used to complain about. I made a note to change the sheets tomorrow.
Maybe that was what healing looked like—not some dramatic, sweeping transformation. Just deciding, quietly, that you were going to stop sleeping in the shadows someone else left behind.
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time in a long, long time—I didn't dream about escape.
I dreamed about softness. About streetlights. About fingers laced with mine.
About the feeling of being held—not because someone needed to possess me, but because I asked to be held.
And they said yes.
The light creeping through my blinds was soft and gray, the kind of morning haze that made the world feel muffled. I blinked awake slowly, momentarily disoriented by how calm my body felt.
No tightness in my chest. No dread sinking into my bones.Just… quiet.
And for once, it wasn't terrifying.
I rolled onto my side, hair tangled against the pillow, and reached for my phone—half out of habit, half out of hope.
There it was.
Tristan: Good morning, Winter. I hope you slept okay. No rush to reply—just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you.
My chest fluttered, warm and immediate.
No demands. No expectations. Just him. Reaching out because he cared.
I read it twice. Three times. My thumbs hovered over the screen before I typed back:
Morning. I actually did sleep okay. Thank you for last night. For everything.
It didn't feel like enough, but I hit send anyway.
A minute later, the screen lit up again.
Tristan: You don't have to thank me. I like being with you. You make things feel… lighter. Hope you have an easy morning. Text me if you need anything, even if it's just company.
That was the difference.
Eric used to text me in the morning to check where I was. To make sure I wasn't doing anything he hadn't approved. To remind me—subtly, sharply—that he was always watching.
Tristan just wanted to be there.
I set the phone down and curled back into the sheets, a tiny smile tugging at my lips.
Maybe this was what healing actually looked like.
Not the absence of pain. But the presence of something gentler. Of someone who didn't try to fix me. Just stayed close while I found the pieces again.
I set the phone down, still smiling faintly, and stretched under the covers. The ache in my legs from dancing was a reminder that last night hadn't been a dream.
Neither was Tristan.
The screen lit up again—not him this time.
Group Chat: Chaos Coven 🔥🖤
Chloe: Soooooo… alive or still emotionally comatose from last night? 😏
Lizzie: I'm betting on over-the-moon. Please inform me of this goth wedding ASAP!
I huffed out a laugh and tucked the blanket up around my chest before replying.
Alive. Emotionally overwhelmed. Also, slightly sore from dancing like demons were summoning me.
Chloe: That's our girl. Did you make it home okay?
Me: We talked. A lot.
Lizzie: Spill the beans, girl!
Me: It's… different. In a good way. Scary good. I told him some of the hard stuff. He didn't flinch, just held space.
Chloe: Proud of you. Please know I'm ready with a shovel if he ever hurts you.
Lizzie: You know I'll be driving the getaway car.
Me: Honestly? I think he'd get all sad before he ever tried to hurt me, and that's what's freaking me out the most.
There was a pause. Then:
Chloe: Take a minute to freak out—it's real. You deserve this, sis.
Lizzie: Take your time, but don't let this slip away just because it's not wrapped in trauma.
My eyes burned.
These girls. My girls. They saw every broken part of me, and still held me like I was whole.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, then typed:
I think I'm going to let myself try. Scared or not.
And this time, the typing bubbles came fast:
Chloe: YES.
Lizzie: Finally.
I slipped out of bed, still in Tristan's hoodie, and padded across the room to tug on a pair of socks before heading downstairs. My legs were stiff, my body pleasantly sore from dancing, but I didn't mind. It felt like proof that I'd lived last night. Not just existed—lived.
The stairs creaked beneath my feet as I made my way down, the morning light already spilling through the sheer curtains in the living room. The house was quiet—everyone must've already left for Kari's volleyball tournament.
I stepped into the kitchen and found a note on the counter in her handwriting:
"Made cinnamon toast. Coffee's in the pot. Proud of you, baby."
A small ache bloomed in my chest. She hadn't said anything last night when I came in—just gave me a once-over, saw the softness in my expression, and kissed my forehead before heading to bed. But she'd known. Somehow, she always knew when something inside me had shifted.
I poured myself a mug of lukewarm coffee and reheated it in the microwave, then pulled the plate of cinnamon toast from the bread box and sat at the kitchen table. The toast was a little soggy, with the butter soaked through the bread, but it was sweet and warm, reminding me of childhood mornings when the world still felt safe.
I chewed slowly, staring out the window at the overgrown backyard, where dew clung to the grass like glass beads. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, and for once, the quiet didn't feel oppressive. It felt earned. Like peace after a long storm.
After eating, I rinsed my plate and mug, then wandered back upstairs. I paused in my doorway, taking in the soft chaos of my room—blankets twisted, textbooks stacked, yesterday's boots kicked off by the wall.
Reality was waiting for me again.
I changed into something clean—leggings and a hoodie of my own this time—and pulled my hair into a messy bun. Then I settled at my desk, cracked open my laptop, and stared at the blinking cursor in the corner of my essay draft.
It took a while before the words started coming.
Not all at once, not easily—but steadily. Like something inside me had been unblocked. Like I finally had the space to think without the constant buzz of anxiety crowding out my thoughts.
My phone buzzed beside me.
Tristan: Hey. Just wanted to check in—how's the morning?
I smiled, fingers hovering over the keyboard before tapping out a quick reply.
Slow but good. Trying to get this essay done before class. You?
His reply was almost instant.
Tristan: Just grabbed coffee. Thinking about last night. You okay?
I paused, then typed back.
Yeah. Different. Hard to explain. But good different.
He answered.
Tristan: Glad to hear it.Please remember, you don't need to rush. I'm here, whenever you want to talk, or not talk.
I leaned back in my chair, the soft light from my desk lamp warming the space around me. For the first time in a long time, I thought this was how it was supposed to be. Like I could be both fragile and steady, messy and calm, and still be enough.
I typed back one last message before diving back into my work.
Thanks, Tristan. That means a lot.
My phone buzzed almost immediately.
Tristan: Hey—would you want to go to the movies tonight? Something low-key. Just us.
I blinked, heart skipping. A simple invitation, but it felt huge.
Yeah… I'd like that, I replied, fingers trembling just a little.
Tristan: Cool. I'll come get you up around seven.
Me: Sounds perfect.
I set my phone down, a small smile tugging at my lips as I turned back to the blinking cursor.
I stared at the screen a moment longer, my fingers still resting on the keyboard, but my mind already drifting away from homework.
Movies. Just a simple night out. No chaos, no noise, just him and me somewhere quiet.
It felt unreal, like the distant thumping of music from the club, now a memory that blended into the fabric of my thoughts. After everything, after the months of numbness and the shadows of Eric, this felt like a breath I'd almost forgotten how to take.
But also—scary. Because what if I wasn't ready? What if I messed it up before it even started?
Still, a tiny voice inside me whispered that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something different.
Something real. Something worth hoping for.
I closed my laptop and leaned back, letting the silence fill the room as my heartbeat slowed and a cautious hope settled in my chest. Taking a deep breath, I reached for a sticky note and jotted down a small, but significant goal: ′Embrace possibility.′ It was a promise to myself, a commitment to move forward, even if just one step at a time. Maybe tonight, I'd finally learn how to be okay.