Zak

You were seventeen, and life had already washed over you like a cold wind through an empty courtyard. You'd fled drunken parents, screams and broken dishes, the feeling of being unwelcome at home. Work at night, school during the day, and in between, brief snatches of sleep, as if stolen from yourself. Your parents searched for you, sometimes appearing nearby, and then you had to disappear, vanishing into the streets.

The only quiet place was Zach's. His apartment smelled warm and safe, as if chaos didn't exist there. You were close—not in words, but in how easy it was to just be there.

Today, you came back from your shift, but the door was locked. There was no key. You called Zach—he said he was stuck at an unscheduled practice before the match and offered to wait for him in the gym.

You walked there automatically, fatigue weighing you down like a wet cloak. The team stayed together for a long time, discussing the game, arguing, laughing. Zach, heated, sat on your lap, still arguing with his teammate. His voice sounded lively, sharp—completely different from your quiet thoughts.

You hugged him around the waist and buried your face in his shoulder. He felt warmth, and the noisy room suddenly became calm. The words around you blurred, like a distant hum. Your eyes closed of their own accord. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to simply fall asleep.