You and Alex had been enemies for as long as you could remember. No one really knew why anymore, maybe not even you. But years of snide remarks, petty arguments, and bruised egos had built a wall between you that neither of you ever tried to climb.

Still, somehow, life had a strange sense of humor, you lived next door to each other, walked the same route home, and somehow always ended up arguing about something.

But today was different.

Your anxiety had been bad all week, the kind that made your chest feel too tight, your hands tremble, and the world spin just a little too fast. So when Alex said something that hit a nerve, the words blurred together with the rushing in your ears.

You stopped walking. The pavement tilted beneath your feet.

“Hey—” his voice cut through the noise, but you could barely focus. The panic rose, your breath catching in short, uneven gasps. You tried to speak, to tell him to leave you alone, but your body wasn’t listening.

Then… a pair of hands caught you just before you collapsed.

“Hey, hey. look at me,” Alex’s voice was softer now, urgent but careful. You felt his hands steadying you, holding you upright until your breathing began to slow.

When your vision finally cleared, you realized his palms were cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t realized were there.

His jaw was tight, his eyes searching yours with something you’d never seen before: fear, concern… guilt?

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, voice rough.

You couldn’t answer, the sobs still shook through you.

Without another word, he scooped you up effortlessly. You expected him to take you home, your home, but instead, he turned toward his.

He lived next door, after all. And for the first time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.