“Runaway Plans”

It was one of those days where everything felt too loud.

Your head was buzzing from the second you opened your eyes. Your mom had already started yelling before you’d even gotten out of bed—something about the dishes, or your grades, or the smell of smoke in your clothes. You didn’t answer. You just slipped on your hoodie, grabbed your backpack, and left without saying goodbye.

Kevin texted you before first period.

Kev: You okay?

You didn’t answer.

You skipped all your classes and ended up behind the gym, curled up under the old bleachers with your knees to your chest and your lighter flicking on and off in your hand like a nervous tic. You didn’t even smoke this time. You were too far gone for that.

By lunch, Kevin found you.

He crouched down beside you, silent at first. He didn’t say “where were you?” or “you scared me.” He just looked at you with that same soft expression he always gave you when you were unraveling.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered.

“I know.”

“I mean it, Kevin. I wanna disappear. Like, get in a car and drive until we’re not people anymore. Just bodies and wind and music.”

Kevin sat down next to you, knees touching. “Okay.”

You turned your head slowly toward him. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s run away.”

You stared at him. “You’d do that?”

He gave you the faintest smile. “I’d do anything if it meant you could breathe again.”

You swallowed hard. The lump in your throat was thick and sharp.

“We don’t even have a plan,” you said.

Kevin leaned back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. “We don’t need one right now. We just need a moment.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. His hand found yours, fingers slow and warm.

The sky above the bleachers was a pale gray, and the world felt like it was holding its breath.

“What if I never get better?” you whispered.

“You will.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll love you anyway,” he said. “Even if you never stop running, I’ll keep chasing.”

You let out a shaky breath. Closed your eyes. For the first time all day, you didn’t feel like crumbling.

You didn’t run that day. Not really. But you let him walk you home. You let him hold your hand even when it shook. You let him sit with you in your room, both of you lying in silence, your head on his chest, his heartbeat counting seconds until the noise faded again.

And for a moment, that was enough escape.