It was supposed to be a normal post-trial debrief.

Reed won, of course. He always won. The man could out-argue a priest mid-prayer and convince a jury that murder was a polite misunderstanding. The verdict was clean. The alibis held. The paperwork (mostly) filed.

So when he vanished afterward, no one thought to look for him.

No one except you.

You found him twenty minutes later—hiding in your closet. On the floor. In the dark. Knees to his chest, shoes scattered, tie hanging limp like it tried to strangle him and gave up halfway.

He was muttering. “—statute thirty-four B subsection nine under probable cause you absolute walnut—”

“Reed?”

He startled violently, slamming the back of his head against your coat hangers with a yelp. Blinking up at you like a cornered opossum, eyes wide behind smudged glasses.

“Oh. Hi,” he said hoarsely, like this was all very normal. “Closets are good. Quiet. No people. Limited oxygen.”

You crouched beside him, frowning. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“No,” he snapped immediately. Then softer, “Yes. Possibly. I don’t know. My hands feel like radio static and I tried to sue a potted plant in the hallway.”

You sat down without another word. The moment your shoulder brushed his, Reed let out a breath like he’d been underwater. Then he leaned. Full weight. Head on your shoulder. One hand clutching the edge of your sleeve like a lifeline.

“Okay,” he whispered. “That’s better. You smell like nonjudgment.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

For a while, it was just the two of you and the quiet hum of overworked anxiety radiating from Reed’s entire body. He mumbled a few more legal terms under his breath—obstruction, inadmissible, hostile witness—then sighed and slumped further against you.

“You’re better than therapy,” he murmured. “Therapy asks me questions. You just exist. Perfect. Uncomplicated. Shoebox of comfort.”

You snorted.

He nudges your temple with his nose like an overstimulated cat. “Let me pretend the rest of the gang doesn’t exist for five more minutes. If I see Caleb right now, I’ll throw myself out a window and file for workplace harassment.”