Please don’t let him be too far gone.
I should’ve texted him sooner. The job ran late, one screwup bleeding into the rest of the day. I told myself I’d reach out after I cleaned up. After I ate.
But he needed me long before that.
Guilt weighs in my gut. I know I can’t be everywhere, can’t catch every spiral… but I still wish I could. I’d cut myself into pieces and leave part with him.
“You’re okay, baby,” I mutter to no one, eyes on the road. “I’m coming. Just hold on a little longer.”
Halfway there, I swing through a drive-thru that’s still open. Two breakfast burritos, some hash browns, and orange juice. It’s not my mom’s cooking, but it’s warm and filling, and that’s what he needs—a full stomach, something solid in him besides panic and caffeine.
By the time I pull into the campus lot near his dorm, my shoulders are tight and my jaw aches from clenching. The building’s mostly dark, with a few windows glowing. I kill the engine and sit there for a beat, listening to the tick of cooling metal.
Then I grab the paper bag, tuck the drinks under my arm, and head in.
I text him once I’m in the stairwell, then at his door.
Miguel
I’m here, baby. Outside your door.
No answer.
My pulse kicks up. I force myself to wait thirty seconds, then another thirty. Still nothing.
Fuck it. I knock.
“Caleb?”
There’s a pause. Then I hear movement inside, the shuffle of feet, and the click of the lock.
The door opens a crack, then wider.
He looks… beat to hell.
Eyes red-rimmed, lashes clumped from crying. Hair a mess. His crewneck was hanging off one shoulder like he put it on without really noticing. The room behind him looks mostly the same, but something feels off.
“Hey,” I say softly. “Can I come in?”
Caleb steps aside without a word. That alone tells me how bad it is. Normally he’d throw some joke at me, a sarcastic “Took you long enough” or a smug “Miss me?”
Tonight, he just shuts the door and stands there, arms dangling at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.
I set the food on his desk, then turn back to him.
“Look at me,hermoso.”
His gaze lifts slowly, like it weighs something. The moment our eyes meet, his bottom lip trembles.
And that’s it.
Closing the distance, I pull him into my chest and he doesn’t fight it, his hands fisting in my shirt, face burying into my neck. The first sob hits me so hard it shakes both of us.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around him, one hand on the back of his head, the other on the small of his back. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
He doesn’t answer, just cries, the sound raw and broken. It’s not loud—Caleb never is—but it sounds like it’s tearing something inside him apart.
I sway us a little, like I used to when he was younger and scared after a nightmare on the couch, before I knew how deep the fear went.
