“Yes, you are,” he said without hesitation.
The certainty in his voice broke something open in me. Another sob tore out of my chest. “It was a lie,” I said, shaking my head through my tears. “I don’t even remember who she was.”
“You don’t have to,” Austin said gently. “You’ll always be Yellow. Even when you’re lost. Even when you’re drowning. You’re still Yellow, Blair.” He lifted his hands like he was about to reach for mine, then stopped himself, letting them fall back to his sides.
“How can you say that?” I asked. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he said quietly. “The way I love you isn’t only when you’re peace. It’s not only when you’re easy or calm.” His voice steadied. “I love you when you are pain. When you’re angry. When you’re hurt.” He paused. “It wasn’t how you acted that made me fall for you. It was you. All of you.” I shook my head, still unconvinced. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me,” he continued, “I’ll still love you. I’ll still be here if you need me. I’ll be here to remind you that it’s okay to feel like you’re drowning.”
His eyes held mine,unwavering. “It’s okay,” he said. “Because you do know how to swim. You’ve done it before. You’ve made it back to shore before.” A pause. “You can do it again.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I cried, finally giving up on trying to stop the tears. “I don’t know if I can make it back this time, Austin. I can’t see the shore anymore. The water’s too high.”
“No, Blair,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “Just because the ocean came in doesn’t mean the tide won’t change. It will. I promise.” His voice steadied as if he needed it to. “You just have to fight. You have to.”
“Can you help me?” I gasped, my chest burning, my breaths shallow and uneven. “Can you help me fight?”
I watched his eyes fill at my words. And then, finally, he reached for me. I didn’t hesitate. I moved into him at the same time he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me and drawing me into his chest. Another wave of sobs tore through me, violent and uncontrollable. He didn’t say anything. He just held me tighter, grounding me as my body shook. I cried against him for what could have been hours. It really might have been hours. Time had stopped meaning anything. He didn’t shift me when his shirt soaked through with my tears. He didn’t try to fix anything. He only pressed his cheek against my hair and ran his fingers through it slowly, patiently, like he was anchoring me to the earth.
Eventually, the sobs dulled. They didn’t disappear, but they softened, turning into quiet, broken breaths. I didn’t move. I just breathed through my nose, exhaustion finally seeping into my bones.
My eyelids grew heavy without my permission. I tried to fight it. I tried to stay awake. But I couldn’t fight the way his hand moved through my hair, steady and rhythmic. I couldn’t fight how safe it felt to stop holding myself together.
At some point, I gave up.
And I fell into darkness.
Sunlight woke me.
I meant to open my eyes slowly, but the unfamiliarity of what my body was resting on snapped them open instead. Panic surged through me in an instant. I wasn’t in Austin’s arms. I couldn’t feel the grass beneath me. I wasn’t where I had fallen asleep. I was in a car. I whipped my head around, though I didn’t really have to. The interior gave it away immediately. Everything aboutit was too polished, too expensive, too unfamiliar. This wasn’t my car. I turned toward the driver’s seat. Austin was there.
He was already looking at me. Staring, really. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all, but there was something else underneath that. Something tighter. Uneasy. Deeply uncomfortable. I couldn’t place why, and that made my chest constrict.
“What time is it?” I asked, though I didn’t wait for his answer. My eyes flicked to the dashboard. 9:13 a.m.
“Blair,” he said my name, and the way he said it only made my skin prickle.
“What happened?” I asked quickly, my heart beginning to race again. I looked around the car, searching for context. For familiarity. I expected my house. Or the empty road near the field. Instead, everything outside the windows was wrong. We were in the city. Parked in a lot beside a building I didn’t recognize. “Austin,” I said, sharper this time.
He reached over, his hand resting against my leg. The contact startled me, grounding and alarming all at once. “Take a deep breath,” he said gently.
“Why?” I demanded, searching his face for something solid. An explanation. A hint. Anything.
“Please,” he said. Just to appease him, I inhaled. It didn’t help.
“Can you take me home?” I asked, panic threading through my voice. Something felt wrong. Deeply wrong. I could feel it pressing against my ribs.
“No,” Austin said quietly. The word landed heavier than I expected. “No, Blair,” he repeated. “I can’t take you home.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice already breaking. I didn’t need to ask. I knew the answer before the word even left my mouth.
“Blair,” Austin said softly, “your mom and dad are inside. We wanted to let you sleep.”
The words felt unreal, like they belonged to a different conversation. A different life. I scanned the building again, slower this time. Something about it felt wrong. Not unfamiliar, worse than that. Familiar in a way I didn’t want to name. The shape of the windows. The dull neutrality of the exterior. The way the parking lot was arranged too cleanly, too deliberately. My stomach sank. I’d been here before. Not this exact place, but a place like it. The sameness was the point. Buildings like this weren’t meant to stand out. They were meant to blur together, meant to feel forgettable once you were inside them. Meant to make it easier to disappear. My chest tightened, a slow, creeping pressure instead of a spike.
“Austin,” I said quietly, before I meant to. My voice sounded distant, like it was coming from somewhere behind me. “Where are we?”
He didn’t answer right away. That was enough. The realization settled into me, heavy and unavoidable. This wasn’t a detour. This wasn’t him taking me somewhere safe to rest. This was a handoff. My fingers curled into the fabric of the seat beneath me as the truth slid fully into place. He hadn’t taken me home. He’d taken me back.
