#there is nothing VISIBLY wrong with my throat so they just threw it all under my ongoing mental health label i think

[satans-knitwear]

😷 just venting abt dumb health stuff, pay no mind

[thefailedabortioon]

|| Carlos de Vil & a crush • X F!Reader

warnings: n/a

authors note: it isnt mentioned who your parent is its up to you for that! mb if its messy i havent written an x reader in like an eon LMAO.

summary: carlos de vil tries to deal with a crush and has his first interaction since first seeing her. (alternate title: jay is an amazing wingman.)

word count: roughly 900 words

A red ball bounced off the wall of Carlos’ and Jay’s shared dorm. Dude chased after it, tongue sticking out as he panted. When Carlos received the ball back, it’d been completely soaked in dog slobber, earning a disgusted groan from him.

“Ugh, Dude.”

“What? I don’t have hands for paws!” The Brussels Griffon retorted.

Carlos rolled his eyes and turned over to Jay, who’d recently set up a little punching bag for training. It’s all he ever came to the room to do besides sleeping.

“What am I gonna do, man? Do you think she even likes me?” Carlos had recently taken a sudden interest in a girl that’d passed by him in the Great Hall… flowing dark hair, elegant clothes (she actually managed to make the uniform look good), and her face. God, her face. Carlos could stare at her for days. She’s seriously all he’d been thinking about.

“Chillax, she probably doesn’t even know your name.” Jay realized what he’d said and stopped hitting the punching bag for a second to look at his woeful friend, “Or… she does! And she’s curious about you too!” He tried to keep his spirits high and uplifting, surprising behavior for the guy if Carlos was being honest.

“I’m doomed.”

“Just talk to her, you coward!” Dude yipped, beady black eyes piercing into Carlos’ own. “You need to get to know her name first before you start thinking way ahead, you know?!”

Jay cut in, “Wait, you don’t even know her name?!” He cackled, running his both hands through his hair in amusement.

“Shut up! Oh my, God!” Carlos threw a pillow towards Jay, hiding his face behind his hands.

“It’s pathetic. Really!” Dude barked out, making biscuits on the pillow Carlos threw at Jay.

Carlos turned to his side, facing the wall. He hugged himself tightly, crossing his arms over his chest for comfort. He brought his knees down, letting his legs hang from the foot of the bed.

It didn’t take a while for Jay to finally take pity on him. He sat beside Carlos on his bed, muscular arms resting behind his back. “Sounds to me you really… like her.” If it wasn’t any more obvious. Jay snickered to himself. “What if I lend you a hand?”

At that, Carlos immediately shot up. “What?! What’re you going to do?! Talk to her?!”

“No, you idiot! You’re talking to her.” Jay said with a smug smile. Carlos wasn’t too fond of the idea, what if he messed up? What if the wrong words slipped out? Everything and anything could go wrong!

“No. No! I can’t! She’ll hate me!”

“Carlos.” Jay pulled Carlos to face him, hands gripping his shoulders, his eyes dug deep into Carlos’ own, staring back intensely at two circles of brown. “Man. The hell. Up.”

The other let out an exasperated groan, pulling away from Jay’s grip to let himself fall back flat on the bed.

It shouldn’t have been that hard, right? Jay had already given Carlos a set of questions he can start off with, scribbled messily on the palm of his hand. So the conversation can go smoothly from there.

He turned to look at Jay who hid in a potted plant not too far behind, an earpiece tucked under his long hair. Carlos also wore an earpiece, a lot more visible than Jay’s but it shouldn’t matter.

Jay gave Carlos an assuring thumbs up signal as he ducked down in the leaves.

Carlos took a deep breath, raising a fist to knock against a dorm room, when suddenly it swung open violently, revealing you. The De Vil boy had nothing to say, words getting stuck in his throat.

You both continued to stare at each other before you finally broke the awkward silence. “Uh, can I… help you?” You asked tentatively, fixing your hair at the sight of a visitor.

“Ah- Y-Yes! Uhh…” Carlos swallowed a large lump in his throat, eyes darting back and forth towards a large potted plant and the girl that stood before him. Her. “I’ve… I’m sure I’ve seen you around before, I never c-caught your name though.” He finally spoke, peaking not-so-discretely at his palm.

You gave him your name uncertainly, “And you are…”

“C—“

You cut him off abruptly with a snap of your fingers, “Carlos De Vil! Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”

Carlos winced, “What have you heard about me exactly?”

“Oh, uh…” You hesitated in answering, fidgeting with your fingers, “Not much. You play Tourney right? You’re on the team?” Carlos lit up at the mention of the sport.

“Yeah, yeah! I play! Do- Do you?”

“Um, they don’t allow girls on the team.” You smiled sheepishly and god, did Carlos almost faint on the spot.

“Right…”

“Is that it?”

Carlos paused, dusting his clothes off and straightening up. “Yeah- That’s- That’s all.”

You tilted your head to the side in curiosity, as if waiting for Carlos to say more, but you shrugged and closed the door behind you, excusing yourself. “It was nice talking to you. Bye.”

You shot him a grin, and you could swear his cheeks started turning pink. A giggle only left your lips as you walked past the boy and a mysterious potted plant that suspiciously had a familiar beanie thrown over it. But you paid no mind and strolled away. Cute.

requests are open!!

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling - Chapter 11

Synopsis:

A sleepless night leaves Y/N grappling with the growing distance between her and Hank. As her day unfolds, the weight of uncertainty and loss settles in. When Hank finally reaches out, Y/N realises that things between them may be more complicated than she thought.

Word count: 4,690

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The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, but it did nothing to chase away the heaviness that had settled in my chest. I hadn’t slept well, if I’d slept at all. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Hank—stumbling, drunk, and so far from the man I thought I knew. I’d never seen him like that before, it felt like something had cracked inside him, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t reach him.

I knew something had shifted recently, ever since that night at the bar with Natalie. But we’d only been together for a little over a month, and I’d brushed off the little things—his hesitation, the way he’d seemed distant when Natalie called him a “total catch.” He’d laughed it off at the time, but I’d seen it, that flicker of something behind his eyes. Doubt.

Last night had been a disaster. I’d managed to get him home, barely. He was so drunk, I couldn’t even get a coherent sentence out of him. And now, I was left wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

I glanced at my phone. Still nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Just silence.

I felt the ache of uncertainty, twisting tighter with each passing hour. I kept asking myself if this was just his way of pulling back, of deciding he didn’t want things to go any further. We hadn’t been together long, so maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought. Maybe I’d read too much into the connection we had. But it didn’t feel that way. This felt different—special, even if it was still new. I wasn’t ready to give up on that, not yet. But what if he was?

Pushing the thought away, I forced myself out of bed. I had a shift at the clinic, and if there was one thing that could distract me from the mess in my personal life, it was work. I threw on my scrubs, grabbed my bag, and headed out, the dread still lingering at the edges of my mind.

The clinic was already busy when I arrived, the usual bustle of appointments and emergencies filling the air. I threw myself into the work, trying to push away the thoughts of Hank, but it was hard. My mind kept drifting back to last night, to the image of him barely able to stand, his words slurring together.

I moved through the motions—checking charts, giving medications, talking to worried pet owners—but none of it felt real. It was like I was operating on autopilot, my body going through the motions while my mind was somewhere else entirely.

Then, just after lunch, the shelter brought in a dog. The moment I saw him, my heart sank. He was emaciated, ribs visible through his matted fur, his breathing shallow and weak.

“He was abandoned,” the shelter volunteer said, her voice tight with worry. “We found him in a yard. He’s barely hanging on.”

I nodded, my throat tightening as I knelt beside the dog. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, I saw something there—a spark, a fight still left in him. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Maybe we can save him.

The next few hours were a blur of frantic activity. IV fluids, oxygen, medications—I threw everything I had at him, desperate to pull him back from the brink. Every time his vitals dipped, I felt my heart race, my chest tightening with the fear that we were losing him.

For a while, it seemed like we might have a chance. His breathing steadied, his heart rate picked up, and I started to believe we could save him. I clung to that hope, trying to convince myself that we were turning a corner. That he might pull through.

But just as quickly as it had come, that hope slipped away.

His body gave out, collapsing under the weight of too much neglect. I could see it in his eyes—the spark that had been there before was gone. He had nothing left to fight with.

I stood there, my hands trembling as I watched him slip away. We’d done everything we could, but it hadn’t been enough. It never felt like enough.

I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the lifeless body on the table. My throat felt tight, my chest heavy with the familiar ache of loss.

I’d seen animals die before—it was part of the job. But today, it hit harder than usual. Maybe it was because I’d let myself believe he had a chance. Or maybe it was because, deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was losing something else too.

Hank.

I tried to push the thought away, but it stuck to me like a shadow. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape the gnawing fear that I was watching something slip away, something I couldn’t save.

I pulled off my gloves, tossing them in the bin, and took a shaky breath. The clinic was still buzzing around me, but I felt disconnected from it all. Like I was moving through a fog, the noise and movement around me blurred into the background.

It wasn’t until I was finally heading out the door that I glanced at my phone. The screen lit up with a message, and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Hank’s name.

I’m sorry about last night. I have the night off. Can we talk?

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the words. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or terrified. Part of me had been dreading this conversation, but I knew we couldn’t avoid it. I needed to know where his head was at, why he’d been pulling away. Why he had let things get this bad.

I typed out a quick reply, my hands trembling as I hit send.

Yeah, come over when you can.

As I started walking home, the weight of the day pressed down on me. The loss of the rescue dog lingered at the edges of my mind, blending with my fear of losing Hank. I didn’t know if I could handle another loss, especially not him.

When I heard the knock at the door, my heart jumped into my throat. I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, trying to steady my breathing. This was it. The conversation I’d been dreading all day. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it, but I couldn’t avoid it any longer.

I opened the door to see Hank standing there, looking just as tired and worn down as I felt. He gave me a small, almost apologetic smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” I replied, stepping aside to let him in. The air between us felt thick, heavy with everything unsaid.

Hank walked into the living room, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced around. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t know where to start. I sat down on the couch, waiting for him to join me. He hesitated for a second, then sat across from me, leaving a noticeable gap between us.

The silence stretched out, neither of us wanting to break it. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You wanted to talk?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Hank nodded, but he didn’t look at me right away. He stared at the floor, his hands resting on his knees as if he was trying to figure out how to explain himself. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “About last night. About… all of it. I know I messed up.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Yeah, you did,” I said softly. “What happened, Hank? Why did you get like that?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… it’s been building up. Everything.”

“Since Natalie?” I asked, the question hanging in the air between us.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the floor. “Yeah. I didn’t realise it at first, but when she said that stuff… called me a ‘total catch,’ I just… it hit me. I’m not a catch, Y/N. I’m a mess.”

I blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He finally looked up, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and frustration. “You don’t know everything about me. You don’t know the shit I’ve done, the mistakes I’ve made. I’ve been trying to hold it together, trying to be someone I’m not, but it’s getting harder.”

I felt my heart tighten in my chest. “Hank, you don’t have to be perfect. I never expected you to be. I just… I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me in.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away again, his hands balling into fists on his knees. “I’m scared,” he said quietly. “I’m scared that once you know everything, you’ll leave. You’ll see what a screw-up I really am, and you’ll walk away. And I can’t… I can’t handle that.”

I shook my head, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “You don’t get it, Hank. I’m already scared. I’ve been scared since the minute you started pulling away. You not talking to me, not letting me in… that’s what’s hurting me. Not your past.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes filled with so much pain, it made my heart ache. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

I reached out, placing my hand on his arm. “Then stop pushing. Let me help.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might. His eyes softened, and his shoulders relaxed slightly under my touch. But then, just as quickly, the walls went back up.

“I’m going back to San Francisco,” he said suddenly, his voice flat. “Just for a week or so. I need to clear my head.”

I pulled my hand back, shocked. “You’re leaving?”

He nodded, his expression pained. “Yeah. I need space. I need time to figure things out.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He was just… leaving? After everything, after this conversation, he was still walking away?

“What about us?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “What happens when you come back?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice thick. “I just… I need to get my head straight before I drag you down with me.”

A lump formed in my throat, and I had to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “And you think leaving is going to fix that?”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, sounding defeated. “I’m a mess, Y/N. I don’t know how to fix it.”

I shook my head, the frustration bubbling up inside me. “You’re not a mess, Hank. You’re just scared. But you’re not going to fix anything by running away.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his eyes closing for a moment. “I just need time.”

A part of me wanted to scream, to tell him that I needed him to stay, that I couldn’t handle him leaving. But another part—the one I hated admitting existed—whispered that maybe this was my fault. Maybe I wasn’t enough to keep him here. I’d always been too quiet, too reserved, not good enough at communicating. I’d been through this before. People left when they realised I wasn’t what they wanted, when I didn’t say the right things, or open up enough.

I took a shaky breath, my voice breaking slightly as I asked, “Is this because of me? Am I the reason you’re pulling away?”

Hank’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately shook his head. “No. God, no, Y/N, this isn’t about you. It’s me. It’s all the shit I’ve been carrying around for years. I just didn’t want you to see it.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “But that’s the problem, Hank. You’re not letting me in. And I keep wondering if I’m not enough. If I’m not saying the right things or being the person you need. Every time someone’s left before, it’s because I wasn’t enough.”

His expression softened, and he reached for my hand, his touch warm and gentle. “That’s not it. You’re more than enough. I’m the one who’s screwed up here. I’m the one who’s afraid you’ll figure out that I’m not good enough for you.”

He sighed, leaning back against the couch, his eyes closing for a moment. “I just need time.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “What about Bud? Do you want me to take care of him while you’re gone?”

His eyes opened, and for the first time since he’d arrived, he looked surprised. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” I said softly. “I want to help, Hank. Even if you’re leaving.”

He gave me a small, tired smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” I replied, my voice firm. “But I want to.”

He nodded, his smile fading. “Thanks. I’ll figure out the rest when I get back.”

*

The next morning came faster than I expected. I woke up to the sound of a soft knock at my door. My heart skipped as I sat up, already knowing it was Hank. He’d messaged me late last night, saying he’d drop Bud off before heading to the airport.

I pulled on a hoodie and opened the door to see him standing there, holding Bud’s carrier. Hank looked as worn out as I felt, shadows under his eyes and an exhausted slump to his shoulders.

“Hey,” he said quietly, offering me a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Hey,” I replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Bud was quiet, peeking out from the carrier, and as Hank set it down, the silence between us felt thick, like everything from last night was hanging in the air. Neither of us knew how to navigate this. It wasn’t just Bud that was being left behind—it felt like pieces of Hank were too.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room as if searching for something to say. “I’ll be back in a week or so… depending.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, not knowing what else to add.

There was a long pause, both of us standing there, not quite able to say goodbye but knowing it was inevitable. I felt like I should reach for him, pull him into a hug or at least tell him it was okay—but the words wouldn’t come. I didn’t know how to offer comfort when I was just as lost.

Hank exhaled deeply, his eyes lingering on me before he picked up his bag. “Take care of Bud,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I will,” I promised, my throat tightening.

For a second, it seemed like he might say something else—something more—but then he just nodded and walked toward the door.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “Hank… I’m here, okay? Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be here.”

He froze for a moment, his hand on the door handle, and without turning around, he said, “Thanks, Y/N. I’ll keep that in mind.”

And with that, he was gone.

I stood there for a long time after the door closed, the silence in the apartment feeling louder than it had ever been. Bud meowed softly from his carrier, pulling me out of my thoughts. I crouched down, opening the door to let him out, and he padded over to me, rubbing against my leg.

At least I wasn’t completely alone.

I needed air. I needed to move. Anything to clear my head from the suffocating fog that had settled over me. I pulled on my running shoes and grabbed my keys, hoping that maybe a run would help me process everything—or at least make me feel something other than the numbness that had taken root in my chest.

The morning was cool, the crisp air biting at my skin as I started down the street. I focused on the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement, the steady thud-thud-thud that echoed in my ears. For a while, I let myself get lost in the movement, trying to outrun the thoughts swirling in my mind.

Was he really going to come back?

I didn’t know. And that terrified me.

It felt like he’d left more than just Bud behind—he’d left a part of himself. The part that had started to open up, the part I was falling for. I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… maybe he wouldn’t come back. That this “week” was just a way to let things drift apart, to leave without saying it out loud.

I picked up my pace, pushing harder, the burn in my legs distracting me from the ache in my chest. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t escape the fear that was gnawing at me.

Without realising it, I found myself slowing to a stop. My breath came in sharp bursts, my legs aching from the exertion. I leaned forward, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. It wasn’t until I straightened up and glanced around that I realised where I was.

Paul’s.

The faded neon sign hung above the door, the windows dark. I hadn’t even noticed I’d ended up here. Of all the places. I stared at the entrance for a moment, memories of the nights I’d spent with Hank at this bar flooding back. This was where we’d met, where everything had started.

And now, it felt like I was standing outside a closed chapter.

I let out a shaky breath, debating whether to keep running or just turn back. But before I could decide, a voice called out from behind me.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

I turned around to see a woman walking toward me, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a Paul’s T-shirt. Her eyes were curious, though there was something in her expression that I couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” I said cautiously. “That’s me.”

She gave a small smile, stopping a few steps away. “I thought so. I recognise you from the photo Hank showed me. I’m Yvonne.”

I froze for a second, trying to process the fact that this was her. Yvonne. She and Hank had a thing, though it was over long before I came into the picture. But meeting her in person? I hadn’t expected this.

“Right, yeah. I’ve heard about you too,” I said, shaking her hand.

She smiled again, but there was something unreadable in her expression—an understanding, maybe. “Don’t worry, it’s all good. Hank and I are friends now, just friends.”

I nodded, not entirely sure what to say. Standing here, in front of Hank’s work, talking to Yvonne of all people… it was surreal. “I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She laughed softly, a sound that felt surprisingly genuine. “Well, I work here sometimes too. So, you know, bound to happen eventually.” She paused, tilting her head slightly. “You okay? You seem a little… out of it.”

I forced a smile, feeling the weight of the last few days bearing down on me. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

Yvonne gave me a knowing look. “Hank?”

I hesitated but nodded. There was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

She smiled knowingly, as if she understood. “Yeah, I get that.” She glanced back at Paul’s for a second before turning her attention back to me. “I’ve seen you with Hank a couple of times. He talks about you.”

I blinked, unsure of how to respond. I hadn’t expected her to mention Hank right away, especially given their history. “He does?”

“Yeah,” she said with a small shrug. “I mean, we’re friends now. We’ve been through our ups and downs, but we’ve stayed close.” There was a flicker of something in her expression—an old memory, perhaps. “He’s not exactly great at opening up to people, but… He’s been different since he met you.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by her honesty. “Different?”

Yvonne tilted her head slightly, studying me for a moment before she spoke again. “He’s been happier.”

I frowned, not sure if I believed her. “Happier? He hasn’t seemed that way lately.”

She let out a soft sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know he’s going through something right now, but trust me—he was. Ever since you came into his life, there’s been a change in him. I’ve known Hank for a long time, and I’ve never seen him talk about anyone the way he talks about you.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t realised how much I needed to hear that—that Hank had talked about me, that I mattered to him in ways I hadn’t known.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him right now,” Yvonne continued, her voice gentler. “But I do know one thing: he cares about you. A lot. I don’t think he’s trying to push you away because he doesn’t want you. It’s just… Hank’s got his demons. He’s always been that way.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I knew Hank had been carrying something—something he hadn’t shared with me yet. But hearing it from Yvonne, someone who had known him for longer, made it feel more real. More urgent.

“He hasn’t opened up to me,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “Not fully. I don’t even know what it is.”

Yvonne looked at me, her gaze softening. “Don’t take it personally. Hank doesn’t open up to anyone, not really. He’s always been good at keeping things to himself. But whatever it is, it’s not about you. Trust me on that.”

I nodded slowly, appreciating her reassurance even if it didn’t make the ache in my chest any lighter. “It’s hard, though. Not knowing if he’s ever going to let me in.”

Yvonne shrugged. “That’s Hank. He’s complicated. But from what I’ve seen, he cares about you. A lot. More than I’ve seen him care about anyone in a long time.”

I swallowed, trying to push down the lump forming in my throat. “I just wish I could help him.”

She gave me a small, sympathetic smile. “You are helping him. He probably just doesn’t know how to let you see it yet.”

For a moment, we stood there in silence, the noise from the street filling the space between us. Then Yvonne glanced back at the bar, her expression softening. “Just… don’t give up on him, okay? Hank’s a good guy. Messed up, sure. But he’s good. He just needs time.”

I nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “I won’t. I mean, I don’t want to give up on him.”

Yvonne smiled, this time with more warmth. “Good. Because I think he’s finally met someone who can keep up with him. And that’s saying something.”

As she stepped back toward the door, she gave me one last look, her eyes filled with a quiet kind of understanding. “Take care of yourself too, though. It’s easy to lose yourself when you’re trying to help someone else.”

With that, she disappeared inside, leaving me standing there on the pavement, my mind buzzing with everything she’d said. I didn’t know what the future held for me and Hank, but for the first time in days, I felt like I wasn’t completely alone in this. Yvonne’s words lingered with me as I turned and continued down the street, the weight on my chest just a little bit lighter.

The apartment was quiet when I got back, the familiar space feeling both comforting and isolating at the same time. Bud padded over to greet me, his soft purring a small but welcome distraction. I knelt down, scratching behind his ears, grateful for the company, even if it wasn’t the one I truly wanted.

After my run and the unexpected conversation with Yvonne, my mind was still spinning. I’d hoped that being out in the fresh air, moving, would have cleared some of the fog, but instead, it felt like everything had only gotten more complicated. Yvonne’s words kept echoing in my head, offering a strange sense of comfort, but also bringing more questions.

Hank cares about you.

Did he? I knew that he did, but it was hard to hold onto that when he kept pulling away, closing off whenever I got too close. I thought about everything we’d shared in the past month—how easy it had been in the beginning, how natural we’d felt together. But now… now it felt like I was chasing after something that was always just out of reach.

I sighed, flopping onto the couch, still in my running leggings and hoodie. Bud jumped up beside me, curling up against my leg, his warmth seeping through the fabric. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his fur, my thoughts drifting back to Hank again.

Yvonne had said not to give up on him. That he needed time. But how much time? How long was I supposed to wait for him to figure things out? It wasn’t like I expected him to have all the answers right away—God knows I didn’t. But the silence, the distance… it was suffocating.

I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. I’d been checking it obsessively since this morning, half-expecting some kind of message from Hank. But there was nothing. And the longer it stayed that way, the more I wondered if maybe I should be the one to reach out. Let him know that I was still here, even if he wasn’t ready to be.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my messages. The blank text box stared back at me, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to push him, didn’t want to make him feel like I was waiting for an answer he couldn’t give yet. But I also didn’t want him to think that I was walking away. Because I wasn’t.

I typed slowly, choosing my words carefully, each one carrying the weight of everything I hadn’t been able to say in person.

Hey. I just wanted to let you know that I’m giving you the space you need. But I’m still here, Hank. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.

I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the send button. Was this the right thing to say? Would it make things worse? I didn’t know. But I couldn’t keep waiting for something that might never come if I didn’t let him know where I stood.

With a deep breath, I hit send.

The message disappeared, and with it, a small weight lifted from my chest. I’d done all I could for now. The ball was in his court. I couldn’t control what he did next, couldn’t force him to open up if he wasn’t ready. But at least he knew I wasn’t giving up on him. Not yet.

Bud stirred beside me, stretching out before curling back into a tighter ball. I leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, my mind still tangled in a mess of emotions. I didn’t know what would happen when Hank came back. I didn’t even know if he’d respond to my message. But for the first time in days, I felt a small sense of peace—like maybe, just maybe, things weren’t completely out of my control.

As the evening slipped into night, I found myself clinging to that small hope, trying to believe that giving him space didn’t mean losing him for good.

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