He blinked. Once. Twice. His mouth parted slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. Like he’d expected me to spiral with him instead.
Truth was, part of me already was. But I couldn’t afford to sink into it. If I drowned in fear before I even stepped back into the real world, I’d be doomed before I began. Iggy just hadn’t realised yet that the same applied to him.
He exhaled and lay flat on his back, staring up at the cloudless sky. “It’s quiet here,” he said. “Almost too quiet. Like it doesn’t feel real.”
“I get that.” I followed his lead, folding my arms behind my head. “It’s like we’ve pressed pause on our real lives.”
His fingers plucked at the grass beside him, restless, needing movement. Then he reached into the tight pocket of his denimshorts and pulled out his vape. He inhaled, chest rising, and a cloud of strawberry-scented vapour drifted into the air. Without a word, he offered it to me.
Mine was still in my pocket, filled with mint instead of sugar. But I took his anyway, inhaling and forcing myself not to grimace.
“I think I’m scared the world will move on without me,” he said, staring at the sky. “If we’re on pause, I mean. That I’ll be forgotten. And then all the noise will come rushing back. The devil on my shoulder, telling me just one drink won’t hurt. One pill won’t matter.”
He slipped the vape away and crossed his ankles.
“It’s fucked up, but...” He hesitated. “I almost like being watched in here. Like if their eyes are on me, I’m being held accountable.” His voice dropped, casual and unguarded. “I can almost pretend it means someone cares.”
Something cracked in my chest at that.
I knew he wasn’t close with his family, but hearing it laid bare like that hurt more than I expected. Did he really think no one would notice if he disappeared? That no one would miss him?
I thought about my own safety net. Riff. The boys. Clara. Even the label, in their own twisted way. They watched me because I was an investment, sure, but they’d still stop me from self-destructing. Another set of eyes. Another reason to stay clean.
But who did Iggy have?
I wanted to tell him I cared. That I wanted him to live the long, happy life he worried might be reserved for other people. That he wasn’t invisible to me.
But Iggy didn’t handle heavy truths well. He joked. Deflected. Twisted vulnerability into something loud and shinyso no one could linger on it too long. I’d only seen flashes of the real him—moments like this, or when his own mouth betrayed him during group sessions. And I wanted more of that version. The quiet one. The scared one. The real one. If anyone truly saw all of him, it was Dr Williams. And only because recovery demanded it.
If I told him what I was thinking now, he’d laugh it off and call me a sap. Tell me not to waste my time, that he’d be fine. So I didn’t bother. I steered the conversation somewhere lighter instead.
“When I get out of here,” I said. “The first thing I’m doing is going to McDonald’s and eating a burger.” I pulled my own vape from my pocket and took a hit. “I’ve had too many vegetables. I need something American adjacent. Something greasy and bad for you.”
Iggy giggled, his whole body vibrating against the grass. The sound warmed something in my chest, slowly mending the crack his earlier words had left behind.
“What about you?” I asked.
He pursed his lips, considering it. “I want a Frappuccino. Chocolate or caramel, with loads of cream and sauce. Something absolutely packed with sugar.”
I laughed. “I don’t think you need any more sugar.”
He turned his head towards me, smirking. “Why? Because I’m sweet enough?”
“More like hyper enough,” I teased.
Iggy rolled onto his stomach, closing what little space there was between us, and poked my stomach. “I am not!”
“You’re like an overexcited chihuahua.” I pinched his rosy cheek. “Running around, yapping at everyone, stealing their snacks.”
He laughed and lightly punched my shoulder. “I am not a fucking chihuahua.”
I frowned, feigning seriousness. “You’re right. You’re more like a strangled cat when you try to sing those K-pop songs you love.”
Iggy burst out laughing, and I watched his eyes grow wet. Not with sadness. With pure, unfiltered joy.
“They’re good songs!” he protested.
“You can’t even speak Korean,” I shot back, rising onto my elbows and bringing us closer. “You just make random noises like a Sim having a breakdown.”
