Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slowly reach out. Time seems to hang suspended all around us as I bridge the space between Waylon and me, brushing my fingertips over the inside of his wrist. He stills, before the breath seems to whoosh out of him, and the muscle under my light touch contracts. His skin is warm. His pulse flutters, and I feel like I might die if I never get to feel it beat against my lips.

He doesn’t move away.

“When I was a kid, and we first moved here, I couldn’t sleep,” I confess to him softly. A shiver passes through my body, and my hand trembles. Can he tell? I lick my lips. “I wasn’t used to the quiet. I had no idea night could be so dark, so still. Philly’s no Manhattan, but there’s still life to be found even at night. But here, in Shiloh, it felt like a tomb. That first night, I kept dreaming that I was buried alive, only to wake up in pitch black, dead silence.”

His breathing seems to be growing more uneven with every passing second, but I know he’s listening. I sweep my gaze over his rigid form, mentally cataloguing the way his shoulders bunch against the hardwood flooring at our back. How his knuckles seem to poke out stark white under the flashes of light. His jaw is a hard line that I’d normally find mouthwatering, but right now, I just find myself resisting the urge to trail my fingers over his face, press until he molds to my palm.

Reassure him that he’s not alone; I’m here, I’ve got him, and he’s safe.

You’re safe. I’ll never let him touch you again. I swear—

“When it was finally dawn, I begged my parents to take me home. Back to Philly. I was scared and I felt so alone. I just wanted the city. The lights flashing by my window. The cars whirring by. Even the angry shouts, and blasts of music at 2 A.M. I wanted it all back, the good and the bad. Anything but this...this endless void.”

His arm twitches beneath me. Thunder rumbles, and the rain pounds and pounds and pounds against the windowpane.

I take a slow, steadying breath. “She told me, the key to making peace with the dark, was to make peace with myself. She said, as long as I remain honest with myself, I’ll be a lot less scared of the truths the dark may reveal.” I swallow a lump in my throat before continuing on a whisper, “Because in the end, the only thing we have to fear in the dark are the things we run from in the light of day.”

Waylon doesn’t move a muscle. I can’t even be sure his chest is rising. Falling.