The sound left again.

Not completely, just enough to make Bailey Dofen freeze mid-swing.  

The shuttle hit the floor with a soft, hollow sound she couldn’t fully hear.  

Her teammates shouted something—she didn’t catch it.  

Then, slowly, the silence faded back in like fog lifting off a lake.  

Everything returned: voices, echo, air.  

But the panic stayed.

She excused herself, walked straight to the locker room, locked the door, and pressed her forehead to the cool metal.

She hated this part—the waiting for control to come back,  

the pretending nothing happened.

When she finally stepped outside, someone was waiting.

Rhett stood near the hallway, arms crossed, his expression gentle but firm.  

“I saw what happened.”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly.

“Bailey.”

“I said it’s fine.”

He sighed. “It’s not weakness to tell the truth.”

She met his eyes, the way she used to when she trusted him more than herself.  

“I can’t afford another diagnosis,” she whispered. “Not now.”

“You can’t afford denial either.”

She looked down. “It was just a few seconds.”

“Seconds become minutes. Minutes become damage.”

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “Not tonight.”

“Then promise me you’ll tell Man.”

She froze. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll stop seeing me as strong.”

Rhett shook his head. “Or he’ll finally see you as human.”

She laughed softly—bitter, small. “He doesn’t know how.”

That night, Man Olid showed up anyway.

He didn’t call. Didn’t knock. Just stood by the gate outside her building,  

hands in pockets, eyes searching the windows until she appeared.

When she stepped outside, she looked pale under the streetlight.  

He didn’t say anything at first—just walked closer, slow, like approaching something fragile.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s kind of my brand.”

She tried to smile. Failed. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Good. I’m not here to fix it.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I felt it.”

“Felt what?”

“That something was wrong.”

She looked at him, half angry, half terrified. “You don’t get to just *feel it.*”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.”

She couldn’t.

He reached out but stopped short of touching her. “Bailey, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t.”

“Nothing that matters.”

“Everything you do matters.”

She looked away. “I don’t want you to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m breaking.”

He hesitated, voice softer. “Then don’t break alone.”

That did it. Her eyes filled before she could stop them.  

She turned, hiding her face. “You don’t understand, Man. You get to walk away when you want.  

I don’t. My body decides for me.”

He swallowed hard. “Then let me stay when it happens.”

“You can’t help.”

“I can try.”

“Then you’ll watch me fall apart.”

“Then I’ll still be there.”

Her breath shook. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s killing me.”

There was a long silence—  

not the comfortable kind they used to share, but heavy, trembling, full of everything they hadn’t said.  

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I already have.”

She flinched. “When?”

“The day you stopped talking to me,” he said. “That’s what breaking looks like. And I’m still here.”

She looked at him then—really looked.  

There was no pity in his eyes, only the kind of steadiness that made her feel both safe and furious.

“Why are you like this?” she asked.

“Because I love you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I can’t.”

“Then don’t. Just—don’t make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” he said again. “But it’s real.”

He took a slow step forward, and she didn’t move away.  

The distance between them felt like a question neither could answer.  

When he finally spoke, it was almost a whisper.

“If you need to fall, I’ll catch you.”

She shook her head, tears spilling. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“And what if one day I fall too hard?”

He smiled sadly. “Then I’ll break with you.”

Her chest ached so sharply it almost felt like sound—  

a noise so deep only the heart could hear.

She closed her eyes. “You shouldn’t love me like that.”

“I already do,” he said. “You don’t get to stop me.”

When he finally left, she stood there long after his footsteps faded.  

The night was quiet again, but it didn’t feel empty.  

It felt heavy with everything unspoken.

She pressed a hand to her chest,  

trying to steady the pulse that still raced where his words had landed.

Somewhere deep down,  

she realized the truth she’d been avoiding all along—

Her heart had always been slower than her fear.  

But tonight,  

it was finally catching up.