Most People Don’t Live Through That -Finn
As we sat in the dark, the world shrank.
It wasn’t quieter; the scraping and hollow cries still drifted up from the street below. But here, something had sealed itself off—a thin, fragile pocket.
I turned Libby’s words over and over in my head, finding nothing.
I’d been to war. That was supposed to mean something here—supposed to mean I had a framework for this, some hard-earned capacity to absorb the unbearable and keep moving. Perhaps my training did apply, and that was the problem.
But this?
You can’t fight this. Not with a gun. Not with orders or strategy or any of the hard-won discipline I’d spent years drilling into myself. This was different. The kind of damage that’s already done before you even know there’s a fight.
The anger came as it always had before combat—a narrowing, my breathing slowing without my permission.
None of that mattered. He wasn’t here.
But she was.
I glanced over at her. No sobbing, no gasping. Only small—folded in on herself, shoulders trembling in the quiet. As is she had learned long ago that falling apart only made things worse. She was holding herself down to almost nothing, barely breathing, as if the world might pass over her if she gave it less to find.
Something flickered in my chest, old and dim.
I moved closer before I could think.
“Hey,” I spoke low, my voice rough at the edges. “Libby. C’mere.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate. She simply turned to me like she’d been waiting for permission, hitting me somewhere I wasn’t ready for. My arm came around her on an instinct I hadn’t answered in a long time. I guided her across my lap—careful, unhurried—and she came without resistance. For a moment she hesitated, uncertain, before something gave and she curled into me all at once, her fingers gripping my shirt.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, one hand rising to cradle the back of her head, pressing her into the space between my neck and shoulder. Her hair brushed against my jaw. Beneath the ash and cold, something clean lingered.
For a moment, she held still.
Silent tears fell, warmth spreading against my skin, and then her whole body shuddered with it. She didn’t make a sound. That almost undid me more than crying would have.
“Shh,” I said. Not to stop her. Simply to let her know I had her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
My hand moved slowly over her back. I wasn’t thinking about it—only moving, the way you do when something finally feelsright to hold onto. Her breath hitched. She pressed closer, and I let her, tightening my arm around her and settling back against the sad couch cushion.
There was a small knot of tension between her shoulder blades that hadn’t loosened. Her head tucked beneath my chin, her breath warm and uneven against my throat. I listened for when it would slow.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my neck. “I just—I can’t—”
“You don’t have to,” I kept my voice low but steady. “You don’t have to hold it together right now. Not with me.”
Her grip on my shirt tightened. I let it. My chin came to rest against her hair, a movement that seemed less like a choice and more like an inevitability I had no desire to stop. The smell of her was still there, still faintly clean beneath everything. My thumb traced a slow, absent line along her shoulder blade, and I let the silence sit without trying to fill it.
“You’re still here,” I said after a long moment. The words came out quietly enough that they belonged only to her. “You made it this far. That counts for something.”
Below us, something heavy slammed into metal. A guttural cry followed and faded.
Neither of us moved.
Her breathing had slowed. The trembling eased, and her grip on my shirt softened—not releasing. Her fingers uncurled and settled over my heartbeat. I covered her hand with mine, my thumb finding the pulse in her wrist. For the first time in years, my focus wasn’t on the mission, not on exits or threats. There was no mission briefing running in my head. Only the weight of her hand in mine. Only this. Only her.
The shuddering in her chest came less often and then stopped. I noticed only because my own breathing had settled into the same rhythm.
Outside, the world had gone completely dark. No streetlights. No traffic. Only the occasional groan of settling buildings, and the silence where everything else should have been.
