I didn't mean to fall asleep.
—
It just… happened.
—
One second I was staring at the ceiling.
The next
—
everything went quiet.
—
And then
—
he was there.
—
Christopher.
—
Not a memory.
Not distant.
—
Right in front of me.
—
"…You look tired."
—
His voice was the same.
Soft.
Careful.
—
I frowned slightly.
"…Says you."
—
He tilted his head.
That small, familiar movement.
—
"I always look like this."
—
"…Yeah," I muttered.
—
But something felt
—
off.
—
I couldn't place it.
—
We were sitting somewhere.
I didn't recognize it.
—
Or maybe I did
—
and just didn't want to.
—
"…You shouldn't stay up so late," he said quietly.
—
"You're one to talk."
—
A pause.
—
"…I mean it."
—
His tone was different.
—
Too serious.
—
I looked at him properly then.
—
Blue eyes.
Still clear.
Still honest.
—
But
—
tired.
—
More than before.
—
"…What's wrong with you?"
I asked.
—
He didn't answer right away.
—
That wasn't new.
—
But this time
—
it felt heavier.
—
"…Nothing," he said eventually.
—
A lie.
—
I could tell.
—
"…Christopher."
—
He looked at me again.
And for a second
—
it felt like he was trying to say something.
—
Something important.
—
"…You should've told me to leave."
—
My chest tightened.
—
"What?"
—
"…Back then."
—
His voice was softer now.
Almost distant.
—
"If you had
—
" He stopped.
—
"…it would've been easier."
—
"Easier for who?" I snapped.
—
A pause.
—
"…For both of us."
—
Something in me twisted.
Sharp.
Uncomfortable.
—
"That's stupid."
—
"…Maybe."
—
But he didn't argue.
—
That was worse.
—
Silence stretched between us.
—
I didn't like it.
—
"…Stop talking like that."
—
"Like what?"
—
"Like you're already gone."
—
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
—
And the moment they did
—
everything changed.
—
Christopher went still.
—
Completely still.
—
Then
—
he smiled.
—
Small.
Sad.
—
"…I think I was."
—
My breath caught.
—
"No."
—
But the word felt weak.
Useless.
—
"I'm right here."
—
"…Are you?"
—
His voice echoed slightly.
Wrong.
—
The space around us shifted.
Blurring.
Fading.
—
"Christopher."
—
I reached for him.
—
My hand passed through empty air.
—
And suddenly
—
—
I was awake.
—
My eyes snapped open.
—
Dark room.
Cold air.
Empty space.
—
No one there.
—
Of course.
—
My breathing was uneven.
Too fast.
Too loud.
—
"…Tch."
—
I sat up slowly.
Running a hand through my hair.
—
"Just a dream."
—
Yeah.
—
Just a dream.
—
I leaned back against the wall.
Staring into nothing.
—
"…You should've told me to leave."
—
His words echoed again.
Clear.
Unwanted.
—
My jaw tightened.
—
"…No."
—
That wasn't it.
—
That wasn't where things went wrong.
—
It was later.
—
Much later.
—
When things stopped being quiet.
—
When silence wasn't enough anymore.
—
When I
—
—
I stopped there.
—
Didn't finish the thought.
—
Didn't want to.
—
My grip tightened slightly against the sheets.
—
"…It wasn't like that," I muttered.
—
A lie.
—
Or maybe
—
just something I told myself often enough to believe.
—
I exhaled slowly.
Closing my eyes again
—
but not to sleep.
—
To remember.
—
Because the truth was
—
—
Things didn't fall apart all at once.
—
They broke.
—
Piece by piece.
—
And I was there
—
for every single one of them.