—oc silas is autistic

The party is loud—too loud. Music thumps against the walls, and the chatter of overlapping voices fills the room like static. He’s standing by the corner, his fingers gripping the edge of a table, his breathing shallow. His curls are a little disheveled from where he’s been tugging at them, and his glasses slip down his nose.

You notice him instantly, even across the crowded room. Excusing yourself, you weave through the chaos to get to him.

“Hey,” you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

He nods, not meeting your eyes, his shoulders tense. “Yeah. It’s… a lot.”

You gently guide him out of the room, down the quieter hall until you find a small, empty lounge. The noise fades to a dull hum behind the door, and you feel him exhale a shaky breath.

“Better?” you ask.

He nods again, finally looking at you. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I wanted to stay for you, but—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupt, taking his hands in yours. “You come first, always.”

He blinks at you, his brown eyes softening. “I didn’t want to ruin your night.”

“You didn’t,” you assure him, brushing a curl away from his forehead. “I’m happier here with you.”

His lips curve into a small smile, and he leans into your touch, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Thanks. For understanding.”

“Always,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Do you want to stay here for a bit, or should we head home?”

He hesitates, then gives you a shy smile. “Can we go home? Just us?”

“Of course,” you say, grabbing his coat and slipping your arm around his. Together, you leave the noise behind, the quiet between you more comforting than any party ever could be.