It echoes off the walls.
And Gabe—
Gabe freezes. Eyes wide. Then he flinches so forcefully it makes my stomach jerk. His arms fly up to cover his head as if he’s been struck, body curling in on itself like it’s instinct—survival. He stumbles back, shoulders tight, crashing into the wall with a soft thud.
His breathing is instantly ragged. Fast. Panicked.
“No, no, I’m sorry—” he chokes out, voice laced with terror as he slides down the wall, legs giving out beneath him.
My heart drops.
His hands cover his face, fingers trembling, shoulders quaking with each frantic gasp of air. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t—please, I’m sorry—”
It’s like someone has ripped the air out of the room. Just seconds ago, the sound of his beautiful laugh filled the space. Now? The sobs he’s trying so desperately to stifle shred the silence.
I don’t move closer. Don’t touch him, no matter how much I want to pull him into my arms and hold him. I feel like my chest is being torn open. I drop to my knees in front of him, heart pounding. I keep my voice composed, gentle. “Gabe,” I say softly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It was just the shelf. That’s all. It’s over.”
But he isn’t hearing me.
He’s somewhere else entirely.
He rocks himself, curled so tight it looks painful. His knees are drawn up, his arms wrapped around his head like they might keep the world out. His face is hidden, but I hear the whispered apologies, over and over and over, falling from his lips like a reflex. His hands drag through his hair, and he tugs roughly.
“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please…”
Each one lands like a blow.
The fear emanating from him is palpable.
“You’re not in trouble,” I murmur. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise, Gabe. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
Still, he doesn’t look at me.
My eyes sting, and my throat burns, but I keep my voice level, as soft as I can manage. My hands rest on my thighs, pressing in to stop the tremble I feel. “It’s just us here, Gabe. You and me,” I tell him gently. “We’re at the shop. We were taking apart the shelf, remember? It broke. That’s all. You’re not in danger.”
His breathing is still choppy, but there's a faint hitch of recognition.
I slow my own breaths deliberately. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m praying it helps.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Again.
Hoping he’ll find the same rhythm.
Slowly, his curled-up posture begins to shift. The tremors don’t stop, but they ease. His fingers loosen from his face, one hand dropping to the floor beside him. His head is still bowed, his eyes hidden, but he isn’t shrinking away quite as much.
“Good,” I whisper, like we’re both fragile. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”
The minutes drag, feeling like an eternity. I don’t speak. I just stay near, breathing for him, hoping he finds his way back.
Eventually, Gabe blinks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. His lips are parted like he doesn’t know what to say.
“I’m okay,” he whispers hoarsely.
I nod, something tight releasing in my chest. “Yeah. You’re okay.”
He rubs at his face with the back of his wrist, still not meeting my eyes. Shame radiates off him like heat. He looks so small, like the weight of his past has collapsed right on top of him.
