Conner didn’t knock. He didn’t need to.

The door was unlocked. It always was when things were getting bad.

He didn’t waste a second stepping inside, quiet but certain. His boots barely made a sound against the floor as he crossed into the living room. No music. No lights. No movement.

They were somewhere in here. He could feel it in his chest—this tight, dull pressure, like something wasn’t breathing right, and maybe that something wasn’t just them.

“Hey…” he said, soft, like he was talking to a cornered animal. Not because he was afraid of them. But because he knew the way the wrong sound could send things spiraling harder.

They were tucked into the far end of the couch, knees drawn tight, hands locked in a grip so hard it looked painful. Eyes wide but not seeing. Breathing wrong—too shallow, too quick, stuck.

He was across the room before the next breath.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he said, kneeling beside them like gravity didn’t apply when it came to this. “You’re not alone. I got you.”

They weren’t crying. Not yet. But that made it worse, somehow. Like it was all bottled so tightly it might break something permanent.

Conner reached out slowly, giving them time, just enough space to say no—but they didn’t move away. So he wrapped an arm around their shoulders and pulled them in. Gently. Steady. One hand came to rest at the back of their neck, thumb stroking slow circles just beneath their hairline.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just breathe with me. In… real slow. Come on. Just like that.”

He didn’t count. He didn’t talk over it. He just breathed—slow and even and deep—until he felt their chest start to match his rhythm.

“I knew something was off,” he whispered, not as an apology, but as truth. “Couldn’t sit still. Heart was pounding like I was in a fight. Didn’t make sense till now.”

They clung to him like he was solid ground, and he didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, arms around them, grounding them.

“You don’t have to say anything. Not now. Just… let me be here.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was heavy with every shaky breath they took, every tremor in their fingers as they clutched his shirt like a lifeline.

“Whatever it is—whatever set it off—you’re safe now. I promise.”

He leaned his forehead to theirs, eyes closing.

“I don’t care if you never see it coming. I will. Every time.”

Their breathing slowed more. Still ragged, still uneven—but improving.

“You’ve never walked away from me. Not once. Not even when I gave you every excuse to.” His voice caught, just a little. “Being a clone, being made in a lab, being… something someone made on purpose to be someone else.”

He shook his head slowly, brushing his thumb against their cheek.

“But you stayed. And that means everything.”

They were quieter now. Eyes red, face pale, but the panic was fading. It hadn’t broken them this time.

He gently adjusted his position to sit beside them on the couch, still holding them close.

“I’ll always find my way back to you. Doesn’t matter how far. Doesn’t matter when. Doesn’t even matter if you know you need me yet.”

He pulled a blanket down from the back of the couch and wrapped it around them both.

“Right here,” he murmured. “Always.”

And then—he just stayed. Silent. Solid. The shield between them and the world until their heartbeat finally steadied against his own.