It had been one of those weeks where you didn’t answer the phone. Kevin had stopped counting the missed calls somewhere around seven. He told himself you were just busy, but the truth was, he’d seen this pattern before—your silence wasn’t nothing.

When you finally texted him—you can come over if you want—it was already after dark. He didn’t waste a second, grabbing his jacket and his bike, pedaling faster than he’d admit.

Your house was quiet when he got there, but not in a peaceful way. The kind of quiet where you could feel all the things unsaid pressing into the walls. Kevin knew enough about your family to know the tension didn’t go away just because nobody was yelling. He found you in your room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, the blinds drawn tight. A burnt-out joint sat in the ashtray on your nightstand.

“You haven’t been at school,” Kevin said softly.

“Wasn’t feeling it,” you muttered. You didn’t look at him, just stared at the carpet.

He crouched down in front of you. “This isn’t just about school.”

You shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. You didn’t want to tell him about the last fight with your mom, about how she’d slammed the door so hard the frame cracked, or how your dad hadn’t looked up from the TV the entire time. You didn’t want to tell him about the nights you stayed awake until your chest felt like it might split open, or how you’d lit up just to slow your own heartbeat down. And you definitely didn’t want to tell him about the bathroom mirror, the sleeve you’d yanked down when you heard footsteps.

Kevin’s gaze dropped to your hands, hidden in your sleeves. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything about it. Not yet.

“I’d rather lose somebody,” he said finally, voice steady but low, “than use somebody.”

Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m using you?”

He shook his head. “No. But I think you’re hurting so bad, you don’t always notice when you drag people into the undertow with you.” He swallowed, and you could see the muscle in his cheek twitch. “And I don’t care if it’s heavy, I’ll carry it—but I need to know you want me to.”

Something inside you broke then, not in the messy, screaming way, but in a slow collapse. Your eyes burned. “I don’t… I don’t mean to make it feel like that.”

“I know,” he said, and there wasn’t an ounce of anger in it—just truth.

You reached for him before you could second-guess it, your fingers curling into his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you upright. He wrapped his arms around you instantly, pulling you in so tight you could feel the thud of his heartbeat against your ear.

For a long time, you just stayed there. No speeches, no promises. You didn’t say you’d get better, and he didn’t ask you to. But in that moment, in the dim quiet of your room, you let yourself believe that maybe not everyone walked away.

And Kevin stayed.