The words struck me louder than an unexpected curveball hitting a leather glove. My heart had sunk to the floor, practically melted in the cracks of the floorboards, never to be seen again. 

My brain needed a reboot, completely shutting down and restarting as his words sunk in. 

This was Ethan Wong. My Ethan Wong. 

The five stages of grief—grief for what I could have lost—had hit in a tidal wave, fast and unrelenting. First came the denial, pure shock, and disbelief that any form of suicidal ideation could have formed. Then the anger. Unexpected with no real basis or target. Maybe at myself for not seeing the signs sooner, for not knowing what my boyfriend could have been going through—anger for not being there for him more. No anger towards him—never Ethan. 

Bargaining and the onslaught of sadness came in waves, alternating in forms of ifs and buts, until all that was left was the bitter ache in my chest at knowing how alone Ethan must have felt. To know that despite what I had thought about our relationship, there were complexities to Ethan far beneath the smiles and happy dates we had gone on that I had not even known. 

I should have. 

The acceptance would come later, or possibly never. How does one even accept that kind of thing?

Except Ethan was alive and here, and I wanted never to let him part from my arms again. If he'd let me, of course. A world without Ethan in it was worse than a world without Taylor Swift—and that was something coming from one of the biggest Swiftie fans. 

"Why?" I said like a fool. Ethan didn't have to unravel all of it, shouldn't have to relive that moment so that I could try and understand. Some things are better left unsaid and unexplained. But it hurt knowing he didn't feel comfortable telling me how he felt.

"The pressure—trying to succeed in everything no matter the cost?" He gulped. "I—I just needed a break from it all. From pleasing my parents to the music instructors and all the teachers who believed I needed to make it to Juilliard. From...from myself."

"Ethan, I—" I bit my lip.

"I couldn't tell you," he said softly. "Not then. I just couldn't."

"You could've told me anything, Ethan."

His expression tightened."I know, but this...this was way too much. Not when you had your own things to worry about. I couldn't just dump all of this on you like that. You had baseball and your grades to focus on, all of it. You didn't deserve to carry that burden. It's why I thought if I broke up with you, it would hurt less..."

It felt like a slap to the face, more like a baseball to the chest. Worst than the time I couldn't breathe when my dad pitched one straight to my chest as a kid. It was the worse feeling in the world until this very moment. Tears fell from my eyes. I wanted to hug Ethan so badly and pull him into my arms, but I didn't know where he stood with physical touch. Especially with being this vulnerable right now, it was likely the last thing he wanted. 

"You think I'd want to carry the burden that I couldn't help the person I cared about the most when they felt the most vulnerable? That I could've prevented such a thing?" My words were harsher than I intended, but the bitter tone was directed at myself. Why couldn't I have seen the signs? If there were any, surely I would've noticed. 

He winced, a quiet sob escaping him. 

"I'm sorry," I said, though it wasn't enough. "It's just...you were never too much, Eth. I'd gladly put baseball, my grades, whatever on the side for you. If you had told me you wanted me to quit baseball and run away to Canada or some other foreign country, I would've dropped everything in a heartbeat."

"Cam."

"I'm serious." I mean, who would I have been if Ethan hadn't been in my life? Baseball felt like such an expendable and minuscule part of my life after Ethan walked into it. Even now, with a day before championships, and a team that I could call family, I'd pick up the phone and tell Coach and Kenji that I wouldn't make it tomorrow if that were what Ethan wanted. 

"I'm fine now," Ethan said as if he hadn't had a panic attack less than four hours ago. "Seriously, moving away from my parents has helped my mind tremendously. Yes, there's still that pressure, but it's less in my face and more on the back burner. There but not on enough to burn the house down."

I opened my mouth to protest, but the pleading look in Ethan's eyes stopped me. 

"Today was just—" Ethan's face pinched. "Today was just a rough one. It's not always this bad."

I frowned. How many more attacks like today have happened? "Because I was there?"

"No," he said before lowering his tone. "No. It was just everything all at once."

I gave him time to collect himself before he continued. "The concert, the crowd, the fact that I messed up halfway through, or your incredibly supportive team who's never met me outside of a few run-ins in the lobby or the halls. Seeing you reminded me of before and how I left things."

I remembered that phone call, the confusion and hurt I felt that day as his words said things were done between us. It made zero sense then; we had texted each other the day before without indication that something was bothering us. 

He cleared his throat as I remained silent. "It reminded me of all the good times we shared. I pushed you away, and I hadn't even told you why. And then you were there like I didn't do anything wrong like you still..."

Care? Love him? Both very well was true. I squeezed his hand. "You didn't do anything wrong."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me that."

"So what if you could've done something differently?" I said. "You did what you thought you should do at that moment."

He shook his head. "It wasn't fair to you."

Even if it had been true, there was no way I could blame Ethan for any of this. If anything, I should have paid better attention; while I knew he was under pressure from his parents and peers, I had no idea how terrible it felt. It didn't matter if I was there for him physically; mentally, I should've done more.

I let out a shaky breath. "Can I hug you?"

That got a smile out of him. He readjusted his position on the bed. "Of course, though—"

"You're not much of a hugger, I know." I wrapped my arms around him, leaving them looser than I would've liked, but I didn't want Ethan to feel trapped or crowded. Though he's calmed considerably since earlier, I wouldn't risk making his anxiety spike again. 

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I know you'll say I don't have to be, but I am. I hurt you and should've at least told you. I didn't have to push you out of my life like that."

I held back from saying anything, knowing he needed to get it out of his chest. Ethan's hands clutched the back of my shirt as he rested his head against my shoulder. 

Hugs and physical touch were never things Ethan craved, not blatantly, at least. His household had never been one for them, mostly using food and gifts to express their love for each other. The few times I had been over to his parent's place, I had never heard the word love brought up in conversations. Even Ethan's phone calls to them never ended with 'I love you.' It had been such a culture shock for Ethan whenever he came to my house. My parents said it as we left the room, kissing and hugging like as routine as breathing. 

It took me a while back then to realize that Ethan just had a different way of expressing his love. 

The fact that he was in my arms and found comfort in my presence—even if his romantic feelings had dissipated—meant the world to me. 

"The world wasn't fair to you, Ethan." 

His body stilled at my words; I was surprised I had said it too. But his shoulders dropped, and he leaned further into my chest like in the bathroom. 

Grasping for something to distract his mind from any possible negative thoughts, I could only think about the December of senior year. "You remember that night we got kicked out of Taylor Swift night?"

A laugh spluttered from his lips as he pulled away from my chest. His hands were just a hair away from mine on the bedspread. "It was an 18+ event."

"You know I didn't read the fine print when I purchased the tickets; I was too excited."

Ethan made a face. "You and Taylor Swift."

I scoffed, but it was true; I could pin a Taylor Swift song at any moment of our relationship, even after the breakup. "You mean Taylor and us. You were the very one who wanted to play DJ in my car that night."

"That's cause you were driving, and you kept wanting to listen to the ten-minute version of "All Too Well" instead of the five-minute one."

"It just hits better," I argued. "Just admit you're as big of a Swiftie as I am."

He shook his head. "I don't think anyone can out-Swiftie you."

"Says the one who actually cried because the bouncers kicked us to the curbs after seeing our IDs."

He pouted. "That was because they embarrassingly called us out in front of the entire line. And you cried too. You were a couple of weeks away from being eighteen."

I did, and while it wasn't my proudest memory, I didn't regret it. Taylor Swift night was something we were looking forward to. We had opted to skip our Winter formal just to go and scream Taylor's songs at the top of our lungs—an official date. "I only cried because you cried."

"Liar," he teased. 

I hummed. "It's too bad they hadn't had the event after March when we were both eighteen."

"Taylor night in your 2010 Corolla has a nice ring to it." He tilted his head. "We could adjust the volume, skip or rewind our favorite songs, and had a semi-working air conditioner."

I grinned. "And McDonald's McFlurries and French fries. None of those adults had that."

"I forgot, you wanted to grab some after my performance. Are they even open?"

"McDonald's? Aren't they twenty-four hours? I could always have them deliver it," I said, pulling out my phone. 

"Don't you have to get up early for your game?" Ethan glanced at the clock. "We could just get some snacks from the convenience store downstairs."

"It doesn't start till five," I said. "I'll be fine. Just fries and McFlurry?"

"Perfect."

"We can recreate Taylor Night in Room 512 instead of my 2010 Corolla. I have my Bluetooth speaker in my bag."

Ethan made a face. "I don't think our neighbors would appreciate midnight karaoke."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I pursed my lips. "We could do silent karaoke?"

"Silent?"

I nodded. "Lipsync battling to Taylor Swift."

"You know I'm rubbish at that."

I gave him my signature puppy-dog look, even rubbing my palms together for added measure.

"Fine," he said. 

While we didn't do much lip-syncing—Ethan was understandably exhausted after today's events—we listened to our playlist for a bit, reminiscing our favorite memories while Taylor Swift played in the background. 

It was about two in the morning before our drowsiness set in. Under the covers of our respective beds, we faced each other, only the nightstand separating our beds from each other. 

"Ethan?"

He hummed, his cheek pressed against the pillow in a humorous way. 

"I'm glad you're here, Eth." 

The look on his face told me he knew what I meant, not just here in room 512 but in general. With a curt nod, he smiled. "Me too."