The night was humid, the kind of late-summer heat that made the garage feel suffocating. Kevin was tuning his kit, Hunter scribbling in his notebook, Emily fiddling with her cello. Music filled the gaps where words usually went, but tonight even that wasn’t enough to quiet the storm in your head.

You sat on the concrete floor, arms wrapped tight around your knees, picking at the frayed strings on your sneakers. It built up slow, like pressure under your ribs, until the words just ripped out of you.

“You all think I’m crazy.”

The sound echoed too loud in the silence that followed. Hunter looked up, frowning. Emily froze. Kevin turned toward you so fast he almost knocked over his sticks.

You laughed, sharp and humorless. “Don’t look at me like that. You do. Everyone does. My dad, the school counselor, those girls at lunch. Even you guys. You think I’m just… broken. And maybe I am, but—” Your voice cracked. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that you get to decide I’m crazy just because I can’t keep it together the way you want.”

Kevin was beside you before you could blink, dropping to the floor, his hand brushing yours. His voice was soft, desperate. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You should.” Your eyes burned. “You don’t know what it’s like in my head. Some days it’s like being haunted. Like I can’t tell what’s me and what’s just noise. I take the pills, I don’t take the pills—it doesn’t matter. I still feel like I’m not real sometimes. Like I could just—” You broke off, swallowing hard. “And you all just… watch.”

Emily’s voice was steady, though her hands trembled around her bow. “We’re not just watching. We’re here. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.”

Hunter shifted awkwardly, scratching at the strings of his guitar. “Yeah, I’m not great with… feelings, but she’s right. You’re part of us. You’re not a project. You’re not a freak. You’re just… you.”

Kevin’s fingers laced with yours, holding on tight. “You don’t scare me,” he whispered. “Not your family, not the pills, not the bad nights. None of it. You think you’re too much, but you’re not too much for me. You never will be.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight on your chest lifted—just enough to breathe. Maybe the world would still think you were crazy tomorrow. Maybe the battles in your head wouldn’t stop. But here, in this garage, with Kevin’s hand in yours and the others watching with something that wasn’t pity but something closer to love, it didn’t matter. For a moment, you weren’t broken. You were theirs.