His heart hadn’t quite settled.
     He could still feel her weight in his arms, the warmth of her breath against his face when she nearly fell, the way her resistance faded—not because she trusted him necessarily, but because she didn’t have the strength left to fight. That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
     He leaned back against the door, head tipped up toward the ceiling.
     What the hell was he doing?
     He shouldn’t be this tangled up. She was just a coworker. A stubborn, brilliant, exhausted coworker who pushed herself too hard and hid the way she was breaking behind polite smiles and caffeine.
     But there was something else. Something quiet and raw beneath all that guarded sarcasm and steel. He'd seen it yesterday when she sat by the fountain, the way she stared at the water like it might answer all the questions she wouldn’t say out loud. He’d felt it when she hit that bag with everything she had—like she was trying to fight off the whole damn world.
     And tonight?
     Tonight she’d let her walls slip. Not all the way, but just enough for him to see the mess beneath. Just enough to make it impossible for him to pretend he didn’t care.
     Jaxon sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
     “Dangerous,” he muttered to himself. “This is real damn dangerous.”
     Still, he didn’t move.
     He just stood there, thinking about the way she looked curled under the quilt. The soft strands of hair across her cheek. The way her breath slowed once she knew—maybe unconsciously—that she was safe.
     Eventually, he pushed off the door and started walking down the street. But his mind stayed behind, in the warmth of her room, in the quiet between them that had said more than either of them had.

The light hit her eyes like a slap.
     Hayley groaned, turning her head against the pillow, but it didn’t help. Her skull pulsed — a slow, dull ache behind her temples that made her stomach turn. She squeezed her eyes shut again.
     What time was it?
     She shifted, realizing two things at once: she was still in yesterday’s clothes… and she was in her bed.
     Her brows knit.
     Wait… how?
     She sat up too fast, instantly regretting it. The room tilted. She blinked through the blur and reached for the nightstand, heart suddenly racing.
     Bits and pieces flickered.
     The bar. Laughing. Shots. Way too many.
     Jaxon.
     She blinked harder, trying to focus. She remembered him next to her… remembered his hand on her wrist, taking the drink. And walking—stumbling—outside. Telling him she was fine. That she could go home alone.
     But she hadn't come home alone… had she?
     Hayley slowly stood, bare feet hitting the soft rug beside her bed. The quilt was tucked neatly around her. Her shoes were gone. No keys in her bag — which meant they’d been used. She rubbed her face, heat creeping up her neck.
     Did he bring me home?
     The thought made her stomach twist even more than the hangover. Not because she was scared. No — she didn’t feel that. She felt… humiliated.
     "I told him not to follow," she whispered to herself.
     Her voice sounded dry, cracked. She padded slowly out of the room and peeked into the hallway.
     Shoes neatly by the door.
     Keys were missing from her purse, but she knew — somehow — that he’d locked the door behind him.
     A fresh wave of mortification crashed through her.
     She couldn’t remember everything. Not clearly. And that made it worse. She didn’t know what she’d said. What she’d looked like. If she’d cried. If she’d said something stupid.
     If she’d let too much show.
     She groaned again and leaned against the wall, pressing her forehead to the cool plaster.
     Of course it had to be Jaxon.
     The one person who already saw too much.

The cool wall didn’t help the pounding in her head, but it grounded her. Just barely.
     She peeled herself off it with a sigh and shuffled to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with cold water from the tap. As she drank, she finally picked up her phone from where it was charging on the counter.
     Notifications lit up the screen. Mostly time stamps from way too late at night.
     Her heart sank as she opened the messages.

Alysa (00:48):
     Hey, just checking you got home alright?

Alysa (01:10):
     Let me know you’re alive pls.

Alysa (01:32):
     Hayley?? You good?

Alysa (08:13):
Okay now I’m worried. Call me when you wake up. Please.

Hayley winced and sat down heavily at the kitchen table, fingers gripping the phone tighter.
     She never texted back.
     She remembered Alysa leaving with Liam, saying goodbye, her voice warm and teasing. And Hayley… God. She’d stayed. Drank more. Way more. And now her best friend thought she’d disappeared.
     She stared at the screen for a moment before typing quickly.

Hayley (09:24):
     I’m okay. Home. Sorry I didn’t reply last night. I think I overdid it…

She hesitated.

Hayley (09:25):
     Thanks for checking on me. I’ll explain later. Just… need to clear my head.

She hit send and set the phone down beside her, running a hand through her tangled hair.
     What would she even say?
     She didn’t know what Alysa knew. Or what she’d seen. Or what she thought had happened between her and Jaxon.
     Hayley stared at the glass of water in front of her.
     What had happened?
     And more importantly…
     Why did she still feel his arms around her?

He hadn’t slept much.
     The gym bag was slung over his shoulder, half-zipped, and he paced near the edge of the weight room, tossing a water bottle from hand to hand while waiting for Liam to finish his last set.
     He was exhausted — but not physically.
     Last night kept playing over and over.
     The bar. The walk. Her leaning against him, nearly collapsing on the stairs. Her quiet weight in his arms. The way her breath had brushed his cheek as he almost—
     He shook the thought off, jaw tight.
     "Man, you’ve been pacing like you’re waiting for a bomb to drop," Liam’s voice cut through his head as he wiped sweat off his face with a towel.
     Jaxon blinked. "Shut up."
     Liam raised an eyebrow, grabbing his bottle. "You look like you’ve seen some things, man. Or… done some."
     Jaxon exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn’t do anything."
     "Okay." Liam gave him a sideways look. "You wanna try that again with less guilt in your voice?"
     He didn’t answer right away. Just sat down on the nearby bench, elbows on his knees.
     "She was drunk," he said finally. "Like—really drunk."
     Liam nodded slowly, listening.
     "I walked her home. She didn’t want me to. Tried to send me off like she was totally fine. But she couldn’t even make it up the stairs."
     "So you carried her?"
     Jaxon nodded once. "Put her to bed. Covered her. Left."
     Liam studied him. "And?"
     Jaxon didn’t move. "And nothing. I almost—" He stopped himself, exhaled sharply. "Doesn’t matter. I left. Locked the door. She’s safe."
     There was a beat of silence between them.
     Liam finally sat beside him. "You care about her."
     Jaxon didn’t respond, but his silence said enough.
     After a moment, he said quietly, "She has so many thoughts inside of her, man. So many that she doesn’t know what to do with them… or how to control them. I see it in her. Like she’s trying to outrun her own head, but it’s always right behind her."
     Liam gave a thoughtful nod. "Yeah. That’s a dangerous place to be."
     "She’s tough though," Jaxon added, almost to himself. "Way tougher than she gives herself credit for."
     "You gonna talk to her?"
     "I don’t think she wants me to."
     "Still," Liam said, "might be good if the first thing she hears is that you didn’t judge her for any of it."
     Jaxon leaned back, staring at the ceiling for a second. Then gave a dry laugh. "You’re not always this insightful. Did you eat something weird this morning?"
     Liam smirked. "Maybe I care too. Just... less dramatically."
     Jaxon stood, tossing his bottle in the bin. His body felt heavy, but his mind wouldn’t shut off.
     He wasn’t sure what he should say to Hayley — or if she even wanted to see him today.
     But he knew one thing.
     He wanted to.

He sat on the edge of the locker room bench, still in his gym clothes, elbows on his knees, staring down at the floor like it owed him answers.
     "Hey," he said suddenly, turning toward Liam who was drying his face off with a towel. "You still talk to Alysa, right?"
     Liam looked up, squinting. "Yeah. Why?"
     Jaxon hesitated for a second too long.
     "I need Hayley’s number."
     Liam raised an eyebrow. "You don’t have it?"
     "No." Jaxon ran a hand through his hair. "Didn’t exactly feel like the right time to ask while she was nearly passing out."
     Liam tossed the towel aside and gave him a long look. "So you want me to text Alysa?"
     "If that’s cool." Jaxon’s voice was lower now, a little rougher. "Just… tell her I want to check in. That’s all."
     Liam smirked faintly. "You’re catching feelings, huh?"
     "Shut up and text."
     "Texting." Liam chuckled, already pulling out his phone. "But I’m telling her you’re being dramatic about it."
     Jaxon shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, but his knee kept bouncing. He hated this feeling — the waiting, the not knowing. But more than that… he hated the thought that Hayley might be sitting alone right now, thinking she was too much.
     Because she wasn’t.
     Not even close.

The notification popped up on Liam’s phone just a minute later.

Alysa:
     Sure. Here’s her number. Tell him to be nice. And don’t be weird.

Liam grinned, holding the screen out. "She said ‘don’t be weird.’ So basically, don’t be you."
     Jaxon ignored the comment, reaching for the phone. His eyes landed on the number like it was some kind of code he wasn’t sure how to crack.
     He typed it into his own contacts.
     Hayley (Work) — the safest label he could think of, even though this wasn’t about work. Not really.
     For a few seconds, he just sat there, thumb hovering over the message box. He started to type once. Deleted it. Started again. Deleted that too.
     He wasn’t good at this. At the reaching out part.
     Eventually, he settled on something simple.

Jaxon:
     Hey. It’s Jaxon. Just wanted to check if you’re okay.

He stared at the message so long the screen dimmed.
     Then finally… he hit send.
     The text delivered instantly, but all it did was sit there. A pale grey bubble. No response. No typing dots.
     He locked his phone, exhaled through his nose, and leaned back against the wall, running both hands through his hair.
     Maybe she was asleep.
     Maybe she was ignoring him.
     Or maybe she just didn’t want to hear from him.
     And still — he hoped she would write back.

Her head still ached, a dull throb behind her eyes as she lay curled up on the couch in a pair of old sweatpants and a hoodie she barely remembered pulling on. A half-drunk glass of water sat on the table next to her, and her phone lay face down on her stomach — silent.
     Until it buzzed.
     She jumped slightly, heart skipping for no reason, then grabbed it lazily, expecting it to be Alysa again.
     But it wasn’t.

Jaxon:
     Hey. It’s Jaxon. Just wanted to check if you’re okay.

Her breath caught.
     She stared at the screen, the words blurry for a second before her brain caught up. She hadn’t saved his number, but she didn’t need to. The message itself was calm, neutral. No judgment. No teasing. Just — are you okay.
     She sat up slowly, her stomach doing that weird twist again.
     Of course he texted. Of course he was… him.
     And no, she wasn’t okay. She felt like a mess. Her memories of last night were a patchy blur — bits of laughter, too many drinks, her body too warm, her brain too loud, and Jaxon—
     She swallowed hard.
     She remembered his arm around her when she nearly fell. His voice steady. The way he’d looked at her like he actually saw something no one else did.
     But she didn’t remember going up the stairs. She didn’t remember getting into bed. And that terrified her more than anything.
     She hesitated, fingers poised above the keyboard.
     She could ignore it. Pretend she was asleep. Busy. She could wait until she didn’t feel like cringing out of her own skin.
     But her fingers moved on their own.

Hayley:
     Hey. Yeah… I’m okay. Thanks for checking.

She stared at the message for three seconds, then added: I don’t remember much after leaving the bar. But I hope I didn’t say or do anything too embarrassing.

Send.
     She immediately regretted it.
     Hayley groaned and dropped the phone onto her chest, covering her eyes with her hand.

     Why am I like this.