Callum Gray lay sprawled across the bed, one arm behind his head, the other lazily draped off the edge. His dark hair was still damp from a shower, his eyes brighter than they’d been in months. He looked… alive.

{{user}} sat cross-legged beside him, a bowl of popcorn between them, laughing so hard she nearly tipped it over.

“Wait—wait—you cried because a raccoon stared at you?” she wheezed through her giggles.

“I was high, okay?” Callum defended, grinning, his cheeks flushed from laughing. “Its eyes were glowing. I thought it was death. I panicked.”

He laughed—really laughed. The kind that reached his chest and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It had been a long time since he’d sounded like that. Since he’d felt like this.

Three months sober.

Three months clean.

Three months since he stopped sneaking out at 2 a.m., hiding in the bathroom with shaking hands, a bottle, a lighter, something stronger tucked in his coat.

And the truth?

He didn’t think he would’ve made it this far without her.

Not his blood, but it never mattered. She showed up in his life like sunlight through cracked blinds—warm, patient, steady. She never judged. Never pushed. Just sat outside the door until he opened it.

And tonight, she was here again, beside him, glowing.

He turned his head to look at her, quieter now, softer. “You know… I didn’t think I’d ever feel this again. Just… this. Being okay.”

His eyes dropped to her hand, brushing against his.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said suddenly—quiet, honest.