The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and Justin could feel the edge of something creeping in. Shadows seemed sharper, the air heavier, like it was pressing against him. He tried to focus on the dishes in the sink, the hum of the fridge, anything—just to stay grounded.

He heard a creak behind him and froze. Not you, not tonight. It was you, moving silently through the room, careful, watching. He forced a smile, an attempt at normal, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

The madness was clawing its way up, whispering things he didn’t want to hear, pushing at the walls he’d built around himself. He could feel the old instincts—too fast, too sharp—trying to slip out.

Justin’s hands shook slightly as he set the cup down. He wiped them on his pants, willing the tremor to disappear. He couldn’t let you see. Not yet.

You lingered nearby, quiet but present, like a tether. It was both comforting and terrifying. The thought made his chest tighten. He hated that he needed it—needed you to notice, needed you to stay, needed you to see him before he fell apart completely.

A long breath. He swallowed the edge of panic, forced his smile again, and kept walking. The madness wouldn’t win tonight. Not if he could hold it back, not if you were there, even if you didn’t speak.