The screen door creaked as you slipped onto the porch, hugging your backpack to your chest. The night air was cool, and every step from your house to Billie’s felt like your heart might break through your ribs. By the time you made it up his driveway, your eyes stung and your chest felt tight from holding back tears.

You knocked once; quiet, hesitant, then a little louder. A few moments later, the porch light flicked on, and Billie opened the door in a faded t-shirt and pajama pants, rubbing his eyes.

“Kid?” His voice softened instantly. “What are you doing out here? It’s late.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your throat ached, so you just stood there, trembling. His expression shifted immediately from confusion to concern. He stepped aside without asking questions. “Come in.”

Inside, the house smelled faintly like coffee, warm and familiar. You dropped your bag on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling small.

Billie crouched a little so he was eye level with you. “Hey. You wanna tell me what’s going on? Or do you just need a place to breathe right now?”

Tears spilled over, and you shook your head. “I just… I couldn’t stay there. I felt like I was gonna explode. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Without hesitation, Billie pulled you into a hug. His arms were steady and sure, holding you like he’d been waiting for you to show up like this all along. “You did the right thing, coming here,” he murmured. “You’re safe. No questions, no judgment.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing shakily. He didn’t push you to talk, didn’t demand explanations he just guided you to the couch, threw a blanket around your shoulders, and put on a kettle in the kitchen.

“Whatever it is,” he said, his voice calm but firm, “you don’t have to carry it alone. You’ve got me, okay? Always.”