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This is how it starts. This is where it turns. You know this. You’ve lived this.

My fingers curl against my chest, nails biting into skin I already hate, skin that’s mapped with memories I never asked to carry. He notices and his hands shift, hovering near mine, like he’s asking permission without words.

“You’re here,” he says quietly. “With me.”

“I don’t—” My voice fractures, and I try again, smaller, “I don’t know how to do this.”

The confession feels like stepping off the cliff, for a second, I expect the fall, instead, he smiles. A little sad, maybe. Like he understands more than I’ve said.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he answers. “Just stay.”

Stay.

My hand moves before I can overthink it, slow, and hesitant, I reach up, fingers trembling as they come near his face. He goes still, waiting for me to do more.

“You can touch me,” he whispers.

“You don’t like being touched.”

“Not with you,” he says.

The voice in my head gets louder…

It’s a lie. It always is. He’ll leave. He’ll hurt you. This is a mistake.

But my fingers are already brushing his cheek, and he closes his eyes. As if it means something. As if I mean something. But… If this is wrong… why does it feel like this?

Why does the noise in my head dull every time he exhales?

Why does the cliff feel farther away when he’s looking at me like that?

“I’m scared,” I admit.

His hand finally settles over mine, holding it there against his skin. “I know.”

“I keep thinking…” My voice shakes. “That it’s going to be the same.”

His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles. “It’s not,” he says softly.

How does he sound so sure? How does he make me want to believe it?

My gaze drops to his lips, then back to his eyes, like I’m caught between questions that I don’t know how to ask. He leans closer, but slowly, giving me time to pull away. And I don’t. I don’t understand why I don’t. The voice is still screaming.

Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea.

But there’s something quieter now, something fragile pushing back…

Then why do you feel safe?

His forehead brushes mine. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmurs. “I’m here. I’m with you.” His eyes don’t leave mine as he continues, “And if you want to stop, we stop.”

My fingers tremble against his cheek. “I don’t know how,” I whisper.

His forehead dips closer, almost touching mine again. “You don’t have to know how,” he says. Then, even softer, “Just stay with me for a second.”

“I want to,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I want to… with you.”

My fingers tighten slightly against his skin, like I need something solid to hold onto before I fall apart in the middle of my own answer. “How?” he asks softly.