The Gibsons’ house was too quiet.

There was no loud music.

I didn’t laugh.

There was no Gerard screaming from the kitchen about some stupid video on TikTok.

There was only... silence.

And that was scary more than anything.

{{user}} arrived and his mother pointed with her head up. “He’s in the room. Locked since yesterday.”

She climbed slowly. At the end of the corridor, the door to his room - always wide open - now had a paper glued with tape:

“Do Not Enter”

She stopped. He took a deep breath. And hit.

“Gerard?”

No answer.

“It’s me.”

The sound of the latch came seconds later.

The door opened. And there he was - without that silly smile, no joke in his eyes.

The t-shirt is tripped, messy hair, deep dark circles.

The dark room, with the curtains closed and the games turned off.

It looked like another world.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, even though she didn’t.

He shrugged. “Why did you come?”

“Because you put ‘don’t enter’ in the door, but forgot to put ‘minus you’.”

Gerard was silent for a moment. Then, he opened a sad smile and made room for her to enter.

She came in and closed the door.

No more questions. No hurry.

She just sat on the bed, pulled him slowly to her chest, and he collapsed there - the arms around her waist, her breath trembling, the wall falling slowly.

“Why don’t you tell anyone when you feel like this?” She whispered.

“Because if I speak out loud, it becomes real,” he murmured against her skin. “But with you... with you I can be silent. And still be heard.”

She squeezed him harder.

And for a while, there was no world outside.

Just that refuge.

That imaginary tree house, where no one could enter.

Except her.