Third. Fruit that was too cold.
Then water.
My phone vibrated again.
Declan: Name the next required task.
I breathed out slowly through my nose.
Me: Bus at 9:30.
Declan: Before that.
My brain scrambled, irritated because he was right. There was a before that. There was always a before that, and I hated when people acted like the obvious thing was obvious because sometimes my head skipped the middle step and then everyone got mad at the ending.
Me: Brush teeth. Grab bag. Key card. Lobby.
Declan: Good. Set a timer for 8:55. When it goes off, you leave your room whether you feel ready or not.
I stared at the word.
Good.
Not good boy. Not performative. Not some line out of the shit I’d half read and then panic-closed when the article got too intense. Just good. Approval without softness. A handhold without making me feel handled.
Me: Yes, Coach.
His reply took longer.
Declan: Color now.
I checked in with my body because that was apparently a thing I was learning to do instead of waiting for it to riot.
Still loud. Still guilty. Still overstimulated.
But the room had edges again.
Me: Green edging amber.
Declan: Then stay at breakfast five more minutes. No phone except timer. After that, execute the list.
I almost smiled.
Execute the list. Like I was a professional who could be trusted with a plan, not a disaster to be dragged through basic functioning.
I put the phone facedown.
Roman was watching me carefully now. Not nosy. Not stupid either.
“What?” I said.
“Nothing.”
“That’s never true.”
He took a sip of coffee. “You look less like you’re about to crawl through the ceiling.”
I picked up my fork. “Personal growth.”
