The bell had just gone and the courtyard was spilling over with bodies—lads punting footballs at bins, people huddled round phone screens like they were witnessing the second coming via TikTok.

Noise everywhere. People everywhere.

My head felt like someone had grabbed a remote, jammed it on full volume, and snapped the buttons clean off.

And then there was my personal Duracell bunny.

{{user}} was leaning against the wall with their friends, mid-story, hands moving as they talked. Whatever it was, it hit, because they laughed—proper laugh—nose scrunching, head tipping back like they’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.

Fuck.

I didn’t even realise I’d started moving until I was already halfway across the yard. My legs just… went. Like they knew before I did.

I stopped in front of them. Didn’t explain. Didn’t plan.

I just reached out, threaded my fingers through theirs, and gave a small tug. Gentle. Needing.

“C’mon,” I said quietly. “Gimme a sec, yeah?”

They blinked up at me, smile fading into a soft frown. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I lied instantly. Then corrected myself. “—No. But I will be.”

That was enough. They squeezed my hand once and let me lead them away, calling over their shoulder, “I’ll be back in a minute,” to their friends.

We found the empty AV classroom—the one no one used since the projector died back in October. I shut the door behind us, the click sounding louder than it should’ve.

My brain was still buzzing. Too loud. Too fast.

So I didn’t talk.

I just stepped in close, wrapped my arms around their waist, and bent down until my forehead pressed against their chest.

“Hey,” they murmured, surprised but gentle, one hand coming up automatically to my shoulder. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Words felt like effort.

All I could hear was it.

Buh dum. Buh dum. Buh dum.

There you are.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding—long and shaky, like my body had been waiting for permission. My grip tightened, not rough, just desperate, like I was anchoring myself to the only solid thing in the room.

They didn’t rush me. Didn’t push. Just rested their chin lightly against my hair and whispered, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And I swear, if anyone had walked in right then, I’d have lost it. Not because I’m tough. Just because I needed this. Needed them. Needed the quiet.

Sometimes my head goes ninety for no clear reason. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. Too much light. Too much noise. Too many thoughts all talking at once.

But with {{user}}?

Everything slowed.

I counted every heartbeat until the buzzing dulled and my lungs remembered how to work again.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Safe.