This is not becoming of me. I'm a mess. I can't do this. Nothing is ever good enough. What am I supposed to do? I don't know what I am doing. I am nothing more than a fool, and I am only getting in the way. There are soft clouds of fog drifting in around me. Fuck. No, not here, not now. Nonono.

The hair prickles along my arms and travels up it to the back of my neck. There is a chill in the air, and as it becomes colder, my breaths become shorter. When the air is cold, like really cold, it is so much harder to breathe. The harsh sharpness of the ice stabs into your lungs, and shorter breaths are the closest thing to relief. I am losing control, and I am making everything a mess. I am going to fuck everything up.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. "Elias, is it okay for me to ask you something?" I manage to choke out, the words are heavy on my tongue. I know we are supposed to be partners, but it's still so hard to talk to him sometimes.

There's a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of his breaths. I can almost picture him readjusting himself, his mind slowly waking from its slumber. "Of course, Helen. What's on your mind?" he responds, his voice gentle yet unwavering. He sounds a bit more awake now. A pit of guilt sinks in my stomach.

"It's just... I'm lonely," I confess, the admission hanging in the air like a weight around my neck. It's a fear I've carried for so long, but voicing it now feels like stepping into the unknown.

"Helen, listen to me," he says softly, his words a lifeline in the darkness. "You are not alone. Take a deep breath. Would you like me to come pick you up?"

The offer catches me off guard, warmth flooding my chest at the thought of his presence beside me. "I would, but it's really late," I reply hesitantly, the guilt of waking him tugging at my conscience.

"I don't mind," he reassures me, his voice steady and reassuring. "I'm here for you, Helen. Always."

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, overwhelmed by his kindness. "I'm sorry," I whisper, the words a mix of gratitude and regret.

"Don't be," he replies, his voice filled with understanding. "Go pack an overnight bag. I'll be over soon."

And as I hang up the phone, a sense of relief washes over me, knowing that even in the darkest hours, I have someone by my side who cares.

It's a Friday evening or Saturday morning. I am trying to pick the right day's clothes for tomorrow. I can't decide if I need to bring deodorant or not. I don't know what I am supposed to do. None of my clothes are right. My phone dings with a text alert from Elias:

Here. Take your time.

I am going to throw up. I zip my bag up and scramble for the door. I don't have everything, but my fingers are shaking as I shut the door behind me. It's dark, and the way is dimly lit. My vision is tunneling quicker than I can stop it. I am trying to force myself to take slower breaths, and my chest aches with fire.

The last few steps blur by. I almost collapse into the seat. My fingers search aimlessly for the seatbelt. My scars stand out so much tonight, weaving patchwork designs over my hands. I wish I wasn't me. Anything else would be better.

Jonah is the sun, and his hand finds mine like a light. His fingers are warm in mine. The cold air between us thaws as he reaches across me for the seatbelt. He buckles me in with a click, returning to his seat, but his hand stays entangled in mine.

He maintains such a delicate but prominent connection between the two of us: my lifeline. He guides me into his home without words. I have not been here since–

As the door shuts behind us he twirls me around until my back is pressed against the door. His hands find both sides of my face. Leaning down, he places his forehead against mine. The contact is a spark and spreads throughout me like a sip from a hot drink makes its way to your stomach. His warmth travels through me, and I notice that my breath has finally become something regular. I can hardly think like this.

My heart quickens its pace, not from fear or uncertainty, but from the intensity of Jonah's words, which seem to set my very soul ablaze. His voice, like a warm caress against my skin, sends shivers down my spine, igniting a fire within me that refuses to be quenched.

"I will always be here for you, Helen," the declaration resonates with a fervent passion that echoes in the depths of my being. His unwavering commitment pierces through the darkness of my doubts, illuminating a path forward that I had once thought impassable.

Though his words offer solace, my mind remains clouded by the weight of my insecurities. "But what if I'm the one who derails everything?" I whisper, the fear of failure threatening to drown out the warmth of his presence. "You planned everything so meticulously, and then I came and ruined it."

In response, Jonah's eyes are full of an unwavering certainty that leaves me breathless. "There's no point in any of it without you," he insists, his voice a soothing balm to my troubled soul. With those simple words, he banishes my doubts, leaving only the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities, with him by my side.

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, a mixture of relief and gratitude flooding my senses. As he pulls me into his arms, I bury my face against his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. In this moment, surrounded by him, I know that no matter what the future holds, I am exactly where I am meant to be. And the two of us will yield something else altogether.

As he guides me towards his room, I cling to him like a lifeline, unwilling to let go of the warmth and comfort he provides. My fingers tighten their grip on his shirt, as if holding onto him could somehow chase away the lingering shadows of my doubts and fears.

With each step, the distance between us seems to shrink, our movements synchronized in a silent dance of reassurance and understanding. I stumble slightly, my feet eager to follow him without faltering, driven by an instinctual desire to remain close to him.

As we enter his room, the darkness envelops us like a comforting embrace, shrouding the space in a veil of mystery. Though I can't see much, I sense the vastness of the room, its emptiness echoing the quiet solitude that Elias seems to prefer. Last time I was here, I slept in a room a couple doors down. I wonder if that's–

"You can stay," his gentle voice breaks through the silence, soothing my apprehensions with its warmth. "I just need some sleep, Helen. You do too, you dork."

His chuckle, like a melody in the darkness, washes over me, easing the tension that had settled in my chest. Despite the unfamiliarity of his room, I find solace enveloped within him. We slide under the covers, and his bedding is thick and heavy. It's weird if I am being honest. I am trying to find my place, adjusting every now and then, shifting my weight, deciding if I should sleep on my side. I let out a huff of exasperation and he grumbles something not intelligible, his arms find me again.

His grip on my waist is an immovable anchor. I curl my legs into my stomach, and I do not think he could hold me any tighter. There is a desperation I finally understand that I am not alone in.

I wake up in his arms with a gravestone in my stomach. I cannot believe I did that. Ugh, this is so embarrassing. My arm is cramping, and I am glued to him. I called him so late, and he really came and picked me up, and I slept in his bed. I have it bad, don't I?

I try to shift away without waking him. My arm protests with a sharp twinge as I try without success to pry it from its position and I wince, hoping he doesn't stir.

The darkness feels less oppressive now, more like a comforting cocoon wrapping around us. Despite my embarrassment, I can't deny the sense of peace that settles over me alongside him. I sigh. I should go. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome. Everything about us just feels so fragile, unreal. His grip on me readjusts, but does not loosen. "It's 6 am on a Saturday, go back to sleep."

"Thanks for coming to get me." My body grows tense. I am trying to relax, I swear. My breath is caught in my throat, and I am so still.

His breath drifts over the top of my head as he hums a response. "Shhhh, of course. Sleep." One of his hands gives me a reassuring squeeze, and I release my breath at last. Sometimes I still don't know, Elias. I know, but it's hard to get past those irrationalities.

His voice lulls me back into a state of drowsiness, soothing away the remnants of my embarrassment and uncertainty. With a contented sigh, I allow myself to relax into his embrace more, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his presence carry me.

I find myself feeling strangely at peace, knowing that even in the darkest hours, I have him by my side. With a final whisper of thanks, I let myself drift off into the comforting embrace of sleep, content in the knowledge that for now, at least, I am not alone.

When I wake up there is a piece of hair clinging to my face. He isn't in bed anymore, and the window is bright baby blue with the sky. The smell of coffee drifts into the room. His footsteps are quiet and far off, at least I think they are. He must be in the kitchen.

I heave myself out of bed, wandering into the hallway bathroom. He still has the toothbrush I used when I was here. My mouth is a bit dry and warm I think to myself, splashing my face with warm water. I reach out awkwardly trying to remember where the face towels were. I feel a towel pressed into my hand, water still dripping from my face, drawing a curtain over my vision. "Oh, hi!"

I wipe my face, and he stands there in the doorway. His expression shifts into something I have not seen him wear at the Institute before. There is just something so gentle in the way he regards me. His eyes sparkle in the light, or maybe I am just too enamored with him.

He leans against the door frame. "I made you coffee."

"Thanks!" I shove my toothbrush in my mouth before I can say anything I will regret. He looks so good, and I don't think I have ever seen him like this. His usually well groomed hair is tousled and sits more out of place than I have ever seen it. He definitely brushed it or something this morning and not much else. The scrubbing of the brush against my teeth is grating in the silence that drifts between us.

The way his eyes pierce into me, burn into me. I could not mistake him not holding some regard for me, but at the same time there is something wolfish and greedy in the way he looks at me, obsessed over me. The way he looks at me bridges between predator and prey, and I am caught in headlights that I tossed myself in front of. His lips quirk up at the corners, "Are you done ogling me yet, dear?"

I turn and spit. I wipe the remaining toothpaste froth from the sides of my mouth. I keep my hand pressed over my mouth, my heart threatens to travel up my throat. "I, uhm, uh, what comes next after this?"

"What do you mean?"

"So like, I guess now that we are…you know. What changes?"

He hums for a moment, his expression sharpening, the intensity in his eyes crescendos. "You could stop vanishing people." He steps closer, closing the little distance between us until I can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

I swallow hard, "Oh, I, uhm." We may have passed the area of toothpaste and casual banter. This is something serious. I know he means it. The dynamic between us has been shifting into whatever comes next. I don't know how to respond if I am being honest. "Why?"

His eyes search mine, and his hand grasps at my fingers. He draws my knuckles to his lips, skimming over each knuckle with his thumb. "I don't want to share you more than I have to."

"Okay. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," he says, turning my hand over and pressing a kiss into the heel of my palm. "I know you probably didn't think twice about it, just in the future, maybe find a different solution."

"Yeah," I give him a nod, my words short. "I can do that." I am scared to say much more. Terrified. The look he gives me is so all encompassing, consuming. Swallow me whole , why don't you?

He combs a hand through my hair, his eyes no longer locked with mine. He teases a knot out of my bedhead and his eyes sparkle again with the same light from before. He catches me once more with his gaze before releasing the contact between us with a smile and walking away. I believe I am being gently urged to get my coffee and make myself comfortable. I spend a few moments getting ready. My reflection in the mirror reveals to me that Elias must be as enamored with me as I am with him. I look horrific. I think I know where a brush is. I dash into his room again to borrow a brush and switch from last night's wrinkled pajamas into something else. I did have the foresight to bring some clothes to change into, thank goodness. Feeling more secure about myself, I wander out of the room in search of my coffee.

He has set out for me on the counter a creamy sweet concoction. Fuck, I love him so much. I should figure out how he prefers his coffee soon. I hear the sounds of lilting music drift over from another room elsewhere. The record player! I should go see him. I place my drained cup in the sink with a clink.

Leaving the kitchen, I make my way through the familiar corridors of our home, following the soft melody that leads me to him. As I approach, I find him standing in front of the record player, his back to me as he carefully selects another vinyl from his collection. Without hesitation, I press my face into his back, my hands finding each other on the other side of him.

He shifts his weight slightly, a sigh escaping his lips as he leans into my touch, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against mine. We stand there in silence for a moment, the music providing a gentle backdrop to our shared moment of intimacy.

I lift my face away, "Am I bothering you?" His hand glides over mine, and his touch is grounding. "I can change–"

"No, not at all. Never." His hands pry mine away from him, and he spins to face me.

"Never?"

"You don't bother me," he says as he stares right into me. "Don't say things like that. You're right where I want you."

"With you?" I question softly, feeling a rush of warmth as his hands find my shoulders and pull me into his embrace.

"Where else?" His words are like a vow, spoken with a quiet intensity that sends shivers down my spine. There's a familiar desperation in his touch, a longing that mirrors the night before.

As the music fills the air, he releases me from our close proximity, his hand finding mine as he guides me into a graceful spin. The world blurs around us as we dance, lost in the moment and the music that surrounds us.