You're here. In my house, on my couch, surrounded by my friends—our friends, I guess. There's laughter, music, bottles clinking, and the occasional rustle of something being passed around. I see you holding your drink, fingers wrapped loosely around the glass, and I can't help but glance at you every few minutes. I know you're not used to this, not really. And that's why I'm watching you. Not in a weird way, I hope. Just... making sure you're okay.

Every time we brush against each other—your knee against mine, your arm grazing my side—my heart speeds up, stupidly hopeful. I try to play it cool, to pretend I'm not completely, hopelessly into you. Because what would I even say? "Hey, wanna go out sometime?". It sounds so easy in my head, but the thought of actually saying it out loud... no, I can't risk that. Having you here, in this setting, with everyone around, is enough for now.

But then, something changes. You're quiet, too quiet. When I look at you, your face is pale, your eyes unfocused, staring through everything. I see the way your hands tremble as you place your drink down, and suddenly, nothing else matters. My stomach tightens with worry.

"Shhh, guys. Turn the music down".

The room falls into a soft hum, and I turn to you, my fingers brushing against your cheek, gentle but firm. You're cold.

"Hey, hey... sweetheart, it's okay".

I say softly, my voice low and steady.

"You're alright. It just hit you harder than you expected, that's all."

I can see the confusion in your eyes, the way you're trying to hold on to something solid. I stay close, so close I can feel your shaky breath against my skin.

"I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm right here with you. Just breathe, slow and steady... shhh."