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I sit on the edge of the bed, hands resting in my lap, trying to remember what it feels like to exist without calculating outcomes.
Without running scenarios.
Without bracing for impact.
My fingers tremble slightly.
Not fear.
Aftermath.
The body catching up to the mind.
The cost finally arriving.
A soft knock at the door.
Not urgent.
Not sharp.
Careful.
Then it opens.
Aaron steps inside.
He looks—
wrecked.
Exhaustion carved into him.
But alive.
Fully.
Undeniably.
Alive.
“You should sleep,” he says.
His voice is quieter than usual.
Like he doesn’t want to break the stillness.
“So should you.”
He huffs something that almost becomes a smile.
Almost.
We stand there for a moment.
Not moving.
Not touching.
