He sits on the edge of his bed, a bottle of cheap liquor cradled in his hands. His eyes are red, the remnants of tears lingering, while the memory of his breakup with the class belle replays in his mind. The room is cluttered with textbooks and the faint scent of cologne, but tonight, everything feels hollow.

I glance up at the window, heart pounding with a mix of nerves and determination. The alcohol in my veins burns, lending courage I do not own in the daylight. Each branch creaks beneath my weight, the world spinning with the thrill of doing something reckless.

I tumble onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. He startles, his eyes wide with confusion and surprise, the bottle nearly slipping from his grasp. "Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you. I just… I wanted to see if you were okay."

He looks at me, his pain laid bare in the silence. "I thought I would be fine, but I can’t stop thinking about her. And now—" His voice falters, and I reach for his hand, warmth blooming between our palms. "You don’t have to be alone tonight," I whisper, my breath trembling.

We sit together on the bed, the distance between us dissolving as the minutes pass. His shoulders sag, the grief slowly replaced by something softer, more uncertain. When he leans into me, his head resting on my shoulder, I wrap my arms around him, holding him as the storm rages outside.

He stirs beside me, the sadness in his eyes tempered by a fragile hope. I brush a strand of hair from his forehead, offering a small, uncertain smile. We lie there in the quiet, the weight of the night lingering, but no longer unbearable, as a new day begins.