angstylittleguy

The hallway became less and less crowded as students found where they needed to be, so it was fairly easy for her to figure out which empty lecture room the boy had dashed into. Silently, she slid through the door and allowed it to close behind her.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see, but him lying on the floor and trembling was not one of them. He had his hand clutched to his chest as if he couldn’t breathe. His thoughts were going haywire, obviously in a panic and unable to pinpoint a single thought. All Rory could pick up on clearly was him repeating, control it control it control it.

Rory took a careful step forward, opening her mouth to make her presence known, when the words died in her throat. The boy suddenly lurched, his body jerking like it had hit something invisible. His shoulders broadened first, then his arms lengthened too fast, elbows knocking into desks. The room seemed to shrink around him as he grew, his head nearly brushing the fluorescent lights. He slammed his palms against opposite walls, fingers splayed, bracing himself, trying to stop this sudden growth-spurt.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he gasped, his voice shaking, as if saying it out loud might make his body listen. Every panicked breath seemed to only make him bigger, heavier, more trapped. Desks scraped and toppled beneath him as he shifted, the sound sharp and violent in the confined space. Rory could feel the terror rolling off him in waves.

He bent awkwardly at the waist, hunching his shoulders, trying to fold himself smaller even though it didn’t work. Rory felt surrounded by his labored breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his mind running at a million miles per hour. She wanted to run but her body felt frozen in place, too scared to move or draw attention to herself.

The boy’s gargantuan hands reached to his head and removed his beanie, revealing a mess of brown hair. He was clenching it as if it were a lifeline, his knuckles turning white against the black fabric. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, quickly becoming too big for the room. The sudden movement of his over-sized body jumpstarted Rory’s heart, and she fell over as an arm moved her way. Her back hit the cool tiled floor and an umph escaped her lips.

The boy’s eyes cracked open, pupils settling on her miniscule form. Shock and utter fear took over his features.

(No, no, no, no, no, no.)

Panic began to roar behind his eyes.

Rory back peddled on the floor, scrambling for purchase but unable to tear her eyes away from him. He shifted, overly large limbs stretching further across the room. Rory finally found it in herself to get up and run toward the door, but his leg was draped in front of it, acting as a barricade. She was trapped.

“Um,” Rory tried, but she found her voice failing her. What could she say?

He studied her still, his heart pounding in his chest. Rory felt his panic welling in her throat thanks to her stupid abilities, but she couldn’t tell where her fear ended and his began. They both stared at each other in anxiety-riddled silence.

“What—? What are you doing in here?” The boy finally asked, his voice so strained and choked that it sounded like he was about to cry.

Rory involuntarily flinched; his voice so much louder than she was prepared for. Her actions made him freeze, and he thought: I’m scaring her. Oh God, this is bad—

A wave of embarrassment and disgust and fear washed over him and the realization that he had reached only encouraged his growth spurt. His head banged against the ceiling and he was forced to tuck his legs in tighter to himself, further swallowing Rory into the room.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, trying his best to keep his voice as quiet as possible to not scare her again. “I—I’m not sure—”

A tear rolled down his cheek and he quickly moved to wipe it away. He’s so embarrassed to be trapped in this room, but what’s worse is that there’s a stranger trapped in here with him, watching his pathetic breakdown. He tried to block out the panic, tried to pretend that everything was fine, but his heart was pounding against his ribcage in such a ferocious way that he’s near certain she can hear it. The thought made the room close in further, and he wrenched his eyes shut, turning over on his side so that he could lay on the floor and pray he doesn’t get any bigger.

“I’m sorry,” he tried again, hating the sound of his voice and the loudness of it all.

Rory swallowed hard, her heart hammering. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to scream, to do something, but the noise in his head was louder than her fear.

She saw. She’s going to run. She’s going to tell someone.

“I—” Rory tried again, forcing air into her lungs. “I wasn’t—I just—”

She’s going to run. She’s going to tell someone. They’ll come. They’ll see. They’ll hurt me.

“No,” he said suddenly, louder than before, and Rory flinched despite herself. He winced when he saw it. “No—don’t—don’t go.” His massive hand shifted, fingers scraping against the floor as if he might reach for her, then stopping short like the thought horrified him. “Don’t move.”

“Okay.” Rory’s voice was barely above a whisper. She stayed exactly where she was.

She didn’t trust herself to move slowly, and she definitely didn’t trust herself to move fast.

The boy was still in a panic, but he was coming down from the high of his growth spurt. He was still massive, and Rory was certain that neither of them knew how long it would take him to return to normal, but at the very least his erratic breathing was slowing.

What do I do? What do I do? She’s—She saw me. This is so bad. I can’t keep her here, but I can’t let her leave either.

His eyes flicked to her feet, then back to her face, like he was checking for a lie. His leg shifted—just a fraction—but it stayed in front of the door.

“Why did you follow me in here?”

Rory hesitated. She thought about telling him about her abilities, but she worried how this giant would react knowing that she was inside his head. She couldn’t risk telling him now, not when she was so vulnerable. “You ran past me in the hallway,” she told him. “I thought you were having some kind of medical thing.”

He stared at her. Then he let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. A medical thing.”

Rory recognized the tremor in his voice. The uncertainty of who could be trusted with a secret so massive. It was why she hadn’t revealed her own secret to anyone before Bennett, and why she wasn’t revealing it now.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Not about me.”

“I won’t,” Rory said quickly, the words tumbling out of her. “I swear. I won’t.”

He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. “I don’t know that. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

The question seemed to land wrong. He blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to offer anything at all.

“I want you to stay,” he said after a moment. “Until I calm down.”

“Stay here?”

“Yes.” His leg pressed more firmly against the door, sealing it. “If you leave while I’m like this, you’ll panic. If you panic, you talk. I can’t—” He broke off, breathing hard. “I can’t risk that.”

“Okay,” Rory said. She tried to make her voice light, nonthreatening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sit. Slowly. Where I can see you.”

Rory didn’t argue. She moved carefully, lowering herself to the floor with her hands visible, knees drawn in close.

They stared at each other through a long, brittle silence. Rory was pressed into the narrow pocket of space his body allowed, tucked close to his chest where the heat of him radiated through the air. One massive thigh was wedged behind her like a barrier, pinning her between his body and the wall. He lay on his side, curled as tightly as his size allowed, knees drawn up and shoulders hunched forward in a futile attempt to take up less space. His arms were folded beneath his head, not relaxed so much as restrained there, like he didn’t trust them not to move on their own. Even like that, he filled the room.

His hazel eyes never left her. They were too alert, unblinking, tracking every shallow breath she took, every minute shift of her weight, as if he were afraid that the second he looked away she would bolt. The position was intimate in a way that felt accidental and deeply uncomfortable, proximity forced by circumstance rather than choice. Rory could feel how carefully he was holding himself still, how much effort it took for someone his size not to crush the fragile space between them.

“I’m Dalton,” he said at last.

Rory blinked, surprised. “Rory.”

He nodded once. “Rory,” he repeated. “I’ll—I’ll let you go once I’m small again. It’s just—I can explain everything better then. You’re—you’re too scared, right now. You won’t listen unless I’m small.”

“I’m not scared.”

Rory surprised herself with the admission, but she found it to be true. She couldn’t sense any malice coming from Dalton and she could detect no lies in his words. She was nervous, yes. But he was scared and he was desperate, and he had no intention of hurting her. She knew this to be fact.

“You’re not?”

Sure, her heart was still pounding in her chest, but she wasn’t scared. Just… apprehensive.

“No. I’m not.”

Dalton started to shift, the smallest of movements as he fought to be comfortable in the cramped room. A turned over desk dug into his back and it hurt, but he couldn’t move his arms. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure if he could reach behind him to reach it. He scooted his body forward—just a little bit—to get away from the pain in his back. And then his eyes fell on Rory, who was too close to him, too vulnerable, and he stopped.

“How are you not afraid?” he whispered. She was so close to him now that he was going cross-eyed just by looking at her. He couldn’t stop blinking, trying to get his eyes to focus on her miniscule form.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “I’m just not. Nervous, maybe. But I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

Rory could not explain the feeling that tapped at her spine. Whatever Dalton was feeling, was not something she was familiar with. It rested between dread and anger, and it tasted bitter on her tongue. “Do you want me to be scared?”

No, was his first thought. But his mind wandered through scenarios of what would happen when they made it out of this room. Scenarios where they both went back to existing but Rory now knew of his biggest secret. Rory could tell that he was uncomfortable with the idea. That he hated knowing that there was someone out there who knew what he was. That scared him. “No,” he said finally.

He shifted again, trying to inch his way away from the pain in his back. But he couldn’t move far enough, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Rory asked gently.

His eyes settled on her for a moment before he started blinking. “Help with what?”

“You seem… uncomfortable.”

Dalton couldn’t help but laugh: a small exhale from his nose. “Uncomfortable,” he repeated. “That’s a word for it.”

They stared at each other for a moment before he said, “No. There’s nothing you can do to help.”

Rory, determined, responded with, “Well, if you tell me what’s wrong, maybe we can figure something out.”

“What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong?” Dalton exhaled again, this time out of frustration. “I’m huge. I’m trapped in a lecture room. I’m trapped with you in here. I don’t know what’s going to happen when this is over with. I don’t know when this will be over with, and you being in here certainly doesn’t help. I’m scared. I’m upset. And there’s a desk digging into my back that hurts like hell.”

Rory was quiet for a beat, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt. “What do you do to return back to normal?”

“I have to calm down, mostly.” And that isn’t happening any time soon. Not with you in here.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Rory pulled her knees to her chest, eyes searching for something to focus on that wasn’t him. “I’m really sorry I’ve put us in this position. I… I didn’t know.”

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

They sat in the awkward quiet for a moment longer. Finally, Rory stood. Her actions caused Dalton to jolt, eyes locking in on her standing before him. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t speed up the process of you getting back to normal,” Rory told him. “And I don’t know what will happen after this. But what I can do, is move that desk that’s bothering you.”

Dalton didn’t voice that he would be more comfortable if she was able to do that, but he did say, “And how do you plan on doing that?”

His body took up the entirety of the room from east to west. There was no such thing as walking around him. She would have to go over. Rory’s eyes moved upwards, to the small gap that separated Dalton from the ceiling. “Could you pick me up?”

“No.” The thought alone was enough to send him into a spiral. “I don’t want to pick you up. I—I don’t know my own strength, and you’re so, you’re so fragile, and—” His heartrate had picked up, and he scrunched his eyes closed as he began to grow even bigger. His shoulder brushed the ceiling and he adjusted himself, folding in on himself even more. Dalton’s teeth were clenched together, and it took everything in him to focus and control the growth spurt.

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t worry! You don’t have to pick me up!” Rory quickly assured, holding her hands up in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

She looked up at the gap by his waist, and though it was much smaller now, she could still fit. Dalton had his face buried in his arms now. He was less laid on his side and more awkwardly twisted.

(Stop freaking out, stop it stop it stop it. It’s okay. It’s okay. She won’t get hurt. You’re not going to hurt her. It’s okay. Calm down.)

Rory could guess that this was going to be a bad idea, but she knew that he was uncomfortable still—even more so than before—and she wanted to do all she could to make him at ease.

She has been doing a shit job at it so far, but she could start doing better after she did what she was about to do.

“Don’t move,” she told him, walking over to his midsection. “I’m going to climb over.”

Before Dalton could voice that he thought that was an absolutely terrible idea, Rory was already clutching the oversized fabric of his shirt and pulling herself upwards. He was stiff-still, not even daring to breathe.

Rory pulled herself up hand over hand, feet balancing in the wrinkles and folds of his clothes. The climb was… higher than she realized. And man, was she out of shape. She ignored the fact that she could feel every little movement of his body, and that if she listened closely, she could hear his heart hammering.

She was nearly at the top, the ceiling growing closer and closer to her head. Rory grabbed a fistful of fabric, and yanked on it, dragging herself forwards, but the fabric began to slide, cascading down his body and stretching out due to her weight. Rory was falling. She scrambled for purchase but the fabric wasn’t enough to support her. She didn’t know if she could fall from this high without hurting herself.

Her legs hit something solid, and she sunk down into it. It was warm, not uncomfortably so, but warm enough to know that it was unnatural.

“Shit. Are—are you okay?”

It was fingers. She was sitting on his fingers.

(Oh God, oh my God. This is not happening.)

“I’m all good,” she responded, shooting him a thumbs up. She looked over at him, seeing that he had his arm propped up on his elbow, reaching awkwardly around his other arm to hold her close to his stomach. His head was barely being held up off the floor, and his shoulder pressed into the ceiling tiles from the position.

“Why would you do that?” he asked her, clearly berating her for her decision to climb him.

“I’m trying to help,” she responded, ignoring the impossibleness of the entire situation to look back to where she had just fallen from. “Can you lift me a little higher up?”

“No?! You’re not doing that again. My heart can’t take it.” I’m going to be sick.

“We’re so close, though! I’m trying to help you, Dalton.”

“You can help by getting back on the ground.”

His hand began to lower, so slowly and so carefully. Rory almost thought he was trembling.

She leapt from his hand.

“Rory!”

She grasped the fabric of his shirt and she heaved herself upwards, determined to make it to the top of this mountain.

“Oh my God.” Dalton’s hand was pressed against his stomach again, just below Rory. “Why are you so determined to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m climbing over!” Rory responded, wriggling herself so that she could squish between him and the ceiling. “Think skinny thoughts, Dalton!”

(This is so bad, this is so dangerous, she’s going to get hurt and there’s nothing I can do about it because she’s insane—oh my God! —It’s like a bug is crawling all over me! She feels like a cockroach.)

Rory felt the curve of his waist start to dip towards his back. She began her descent.

Dalton was still as she climbed down and his thoughts were a worried mess. When Rory was safely on the other side and her feet were on solid ground, Dalton released the breath he was holding.

“See?” Rory said, calling up to him. “That wasn’t so bad!”

“That was terrible, actually,” Dalton responded. “I hated every second of it.”

Rory didn’t respond, her focus now turned to finding this desk that was causing him so much pain. She found it awkwardly wedged beneath him, its legs sticking out and the surface swallowed by the fabric of his clothes. She tugged on it, causing Dalton to stiffen once again. “Be careful,” he said, voice low.

(I can’t see her. If I don’t know where she is I can’t tell if she’s safe. This is so dangerous.)

“It’s okay,” Rory told him, brushing off his anxious thoughts that tickled her neck. “Can you lean forward a little at all?”

He did as she instructed, ever so slightly shifting his weight so that she could pry the desk out from under him. When it was free, Dalton physically relaxed. “Thank you,” he said as she dragged the desk to the far wall.

When the moment was over, Dalton’s mind began to wander again. (What now? I can’t see her anymore. There’s no way she’s climbing back over again so she’s in front of me. Shit, is there an exit behind me? Could she leave? What if she sneaks out now that I can’t see her? I couldn’t do anything about it. Has she noticed? What if—?)

“There’s no exit,” Rory interrupted him before he could continue this downward spiral. “I wasn’t gonna leave. I just wanted to help you out.”

“How did—?”

“There’s enough room for you to roll over if you wanted to. Not your legs, though. But if you wanted to turn over on your back, you could.”

Dalton mulled the idea over. “Where are you?”

“I’m against the wall. And I moved all the stuff out of your way. There’s room.”

“You stay against the wall, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ever so slowly, Dalton’s torso began to turn until his back was pressed against the floor. He rested his hands on his stomach, elbows almost brushing against the walls. His knees were still tucked awkwardly to his left. He turned his head to the right, looking over at Rory who stood against the wall. He exhaled. “This is better.”

“Good.” She sat down on one of the desks that were pressed against the wall.

They fell into an awkward silence again, but Dalton’s mind was still reeling.

(She was in my hand, she was in my hand, oh my God, I held her.)

“So…” Rory tried, words falling short on her tongue. “What’s your major?”

Dalton exhaled through his nose. “Art,” he said, “with a concentration in painting and drawing. You?”

“Psychology.”

“What are you doing in the arts building, then? The science building is, like, on the other side of campus.”

“I was meeting with a friend.”

Rory wondered if Bennett would come looking for her, or if he would assume she ditched him.

“Are they an art major?”

Rory paused. “I have no idea what his major is.”

The attempt at normal conversation fizzled out, the room filled again with the low hum of the lights and the soft, uneven sound of his breathing. Rory could feel a shift in him. Not another spike of panic, but the restless edge of it.

“I think,” Dalton said slowly, staring up at the ceiling, “I might be able to shrink a little.”

Rory straightened. “A little?”

“Don’t get excited,” he said quickly. “It’s not fast, and it doesn’t really listen to me unless I’m calm.” He let out a humorless breath. “Which I’m not great at.”

“That’s okay.”

Silence settled again. Dalton shut his eyes, hands curling into the floor. His breathing was still uneven, but he was trying to slow it, forcing air in through his nose, out through his mouth. Rory stayed still, afraid even shifting her weight might break whatever fragile focus he’s found.

It took Rory a few seconds to realize what was happening. There was no sudden release, no dramatic snap back to normal. But the ceiling stopped pressing down on him, the walls crept farther away. Dalton’s body seemed to fold inward on itself, muscle and bone drawing tighter.

Every instinct in him screamed not to move, not to breathe too deeply, not to do anything that might reverse it. His hands dug into the floor, fingers trembling as he forced himself to stay still. Then, carefully, he stretched one leg a fraction, rolling his shoulder just enough to confirm the space was real. When nothing pressed back, he let out a shaky breath and slowly extended the rest of himself, spine uncurling inch by inch.

It wasn’t smooth. Every few seconds he had to stop, breath hitching as a tremor ran through him, the fear of growing again clawing up his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, counted his breaths under his breath, grounding himself in the feel of the floor, the air, the fact that the walls were farther away.

By the time he finally went still, he was hunched and exhausted, sweat dampening his hairline, chest rising and falling hard but steady. He was still too big for the room, but he was contained.

Dalton took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s—okay.”

Rory hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out of her all at once. The tight, aching knot in her chest loosened, just enough for her to breathe again.

“I think I can sit up,” he said after a while.

“Slow,” Rory said.

“Yeah. Slow.”

He pushed himself upright inch by inch, his head barely brushing the ceiling. There was enough room for him to stretch out his legs now, though not quite enough for him to sit up straight without bumping the ceiling. When he finally sat hunched against the wall, his hands shaking, Rory said, “You’re doing great.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t say that like I’m a child.”

Rory bit back a smile. “Sorry.”

They stared at one another; Rory perched on the desk and Dalton still towering over her. He had to be at least ten feet tall right now, maybe closer to fifteen or even twenty. Shit, if he’s that tall now, when he’s not even half of what he was a moment ago, how big was he? Thirty feet? Forty? Fifty?

His hands were limp in his lap, shaking only enough for Rory to notice because of his size. “Does it hurt?” she asked him.

“Only when I try to force it,” he responded.

Rory nodded, like that made sense. “So… it’s more about not fighting it.”

“More like convincing my body it’s not about to die.”

Another stretch of silence followed heavier this time. Dalton leaned his head back against the wall, staring down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. He flexed his fingers slowly, watching them obey.

“Why are you so normal about all of this?” he asked suddenly.

Rory blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” He gestured vaguely to him and the room. “You didn’t—”

He stopped the thought from leaving his mouth, but his mind finished for him: scream.

“You climbed me,” he continued. “And you were in my hand. You jumped from my hand as well, like an idiot. And you’re still here even though I’m not blocking the door, anymore.”

Rory’s eyes fell to the door across the room. It was no longer being barricaded by Dalton’s foot, but it was still dwarfed by his size.

“I just—”

Whatever Dalton was going to say was cut off by Rory’s realization—oh shit! The door! —and she leapt from the desk and scurried to lock it before anyone could walk in on them. Dalton’s panicked thoughts caught up to her before she could even reach the door, and she skidded to a halt as one of his massive hands slammed against the door’s surface, securing it shut.

(No no no no no! Where is she going?!)

Rory jolted at the hand now in front of her, the sound of it hitting the wood like a gunshot in the quiet room. She stumbled back, heart fighting to break out of her ribcage, and she backed right into a familiar warmth that closed around her torso and lifted her from the ground.

“I’m sorry!” Dalton was whisper-shouting as she struggled in his grip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You can’t leave, yet. I told you that you can’t leave.”

Rory froze in his grasp.

Dalton’s hand was wrapped around her middle, careful but firm, his thumb braced against her spine like he was afraid the pressure might snap her in half. She could feel the tremor running through him, the way his fingers flexed and then stilled, flexed and then stilled, like he was actively reminding himself not to squeeze.

“I wasn’t leaving,” she said quickly. Her words came out breathless, more from surprise than fear. “I was locking the door.”

“What?” he asked.

“The door,” she repeated, slower. “I didn’t think you’d want someone walking in on… this.”

His thoughts slammed into her all at once, sharp and hot and mortified. Oh. Oh, fuck. I’m an idiot. I grabbed her and—I grabbed her—

He loosened his grip immediately, lowering her back to the floor with exaggerated care. The second her feet touched down, he pulled his hand back to his chest, curling his fingers inward.

“I—sorry,” he said. “I panicked. I thought you were—”

“I know,” Rory said. She took a step back, giving him space even though there wasn’t much of it to give. “I should’ve said something first.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked.

“No, you didn’t.”

He let out a breath that shook his entire frame and dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

They stood there a moment, the air thick and buzzing. Dalton slowly reached over to the door to lock it, but realized his fingers were too big as he fumbled with the lock. Rory stopped him, placing a gentle hand on his skin and guiding his hand away from the door. “Let me,” she murmured, locking it for him.

When it clicked into place, his shoulders sagged a fraction. His knees were drawn up awkwardly, arms braced on either side of him. “Can you just sit, please?” Dalton asked her, quietly. “Just sit quietly until I’m small enough to get out of here?”

She didn’t respond, but she returned to her perch on one of the desks.

Dalton focused on his breathing. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. He counted under his breath, jaw clenched, shoulders rising and falling with deliberate slowness. Every now and then his fingers twitched, like his body wanted to bolt even while his mind tried to leash it.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. He began to shrink down so gradually that Rory almost missed it.

“Okay,” he murmured again. “Okay.”

By the time he was normal again, truly normal, he looked wrecked. Dalton leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest quickly rising and falling.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Rory broke the silence: “Do you want some water?”

He blinked, looking up at her for the first time. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

She grabbed a bottle from her bag and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed this time, and neither of them flinched. He drained half of it in one go, then pressed the cool plastic to his forehead with a groan.

“God,” he muttered. “I hate that.”

Rory tilted her head. “This happens often?”

He hesitated long enough that she knew she’d hit something sensitive. “Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not like… not usually that bad. Crowds make it worse. Feeling trapped. You know. All the fun stuff.”

She nodded.

“I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it,” he added. “I really didn’t.”

“I chased you,” Rory said. “That’s on me.”

“You’re not going to report this. Or tell anyone. Right?”

“No,” she said without hesitation.

“I’m not dangerous. I—I have a condition.”

“I’m not going to tell,” Rory said.

“I don’t need you to understand,” he continued. “Or fix anything. I just need this to stay quiet.”

“It will.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Dalton studied her for a second longer, then exhaled. “Okay.”

Outside the room, footsteps passed in the hallway. Both of them went still, listening, until the sound faded. “Guess we should wait a bit longer,” Dalton said. “Just to be sure.”

Rory nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. We should put the room back together while we’re at it.”

Dalton looked around at the destroyed lecture room. Seeing all of the desks turned over from a normal height really put the damage into perspective. “Dang, yeah.”

He stood for the first time since they’d been in that room and handed Rory her water bottle back. He was taller than her still, but it was a more welcome height difference. Rory smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said, awkward and sincere all at once.

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed there together, in the quiet, until the room finally felt like just a room again.

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He stalked to the bathroom, flipping the light switch with his elbow. Bennett drew another tally mark on his skin with the sharpie marker. He couldn’t bear the sight of his reflection. He was unscarred. No scrapes, scratches, or bruises to show what he had been through. Bennett didn’t even have bags under his eyes. 

He pulled on his hoodie and jeans with mechanical efficiency, his mind already racing. Focus, Bennett. No time to wallow. You need to try something new.

Everything he’d tried had failed. Talking to Dalton hadn’t worked. Calming him hadn’t worked. Fighting him hadn’t worked. It was like the loop itself was conspiring to unravel their lives, no matter what he did. Well, fuck you too, universe.

Bennett slipped out of his dorm room quietly. The hallways were dead silent, no one in their right minds awake this early. He pulled his hood over his head, yanking on the strings. Bennett went through everything from previous days—strategies, dead ends, desperate theories—but none of it had gotten him anywhere. 

Bennett left his dorm building, the chilly, November morning air biting at his nose. His eyes were focused on his feet as he walked, listening to the sound of his shoes on asphalt. He didn’t need to know where he was going, his feet carried him on muscle memory now. They knew the way to Dalton’s house even if Bennett was sleep-walking. He had made the trek for nearly eighty days now. 

The thought made him slow to stop. 

He couldn’t stop Dalton if he didn’t understand what was happening.

Bennett was done winging it. He’d treated the loop like a puzzle to solve with brute force: fix Dalton, stop the chaos, and the loop ends. But ninety-four days of failure said otherwise. Maybe there was something he missed.

Bennett changed course. The library wouldn’t open for hours, but Bennett knew how to get in. He’d done it before, back when he thought the loop was just a weird fluke that would fix itself after a few days. 

The main doors were locked, as expected. Bennett ducked around to the back, where the staff entrance was. The lock was old, and he jimmied it open with practiced ease.

The library’s faint, musty smell hit him as he stepped inside, the dim glow from the emergency lights casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. 

His fingers brushed over the spines of books he hadn’t thought to look at before: physics, philosophy, mythology. He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, but maybe that was the point.

He pulled a stack of books off the shelves and carried them to a table, dropping into a chair. The first book he opened was dense and filled with diagrams he barely understood, but he forced himself to read.

He found a sketch of a brain surrounded by looping arrows, annotated with theories about subconscious imprinting and emotional residue.

“Subconscious...” he muttered, tapping the paper with his index finger. He’d read the word a dozen times, but it hadn’t clicked. If the loop reset physical states and erased conscious memory, then what wasn’t being reset? 

“The hippocampus processes emotional stimuli... subconscious responses to trauma can persist despite amnesia…”

His breath hitched. Trauma. That was it. The loop was only designed to reset surface-level states—bruises healed, memories vanished—but emotions, instincts, and stress responses weren’t so easily erased. They were scars on the soul, not the skin.

Bennett’s pulse raced. It wasn’t just the loop causing this—it was the feedback cycle. Every loop compounded the emotional residue left behind, a snowball growing larger and larger until it was impossible to stop.

Dalton’s powers—triggered by emotion—were accelerating the effect.

He raced to the front desk of the library and searched for a pen. Bennett pulled up his hoodie and scribbled notes upside down on his stomach:

Subconscious retains residue → emotional imprint amplifies.

Dalton’s powers tied to fear/guilt → loop resets physical but not emotional.

Every reset = bigger snowball.

“Which means...” Bennett’s voice trembled as he traced the chain of logic. “Every loop makes Dalton more unstable. If this keeps going, I won’t be able to stop him.”

The thought made his chest tighten. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to focus. If this memory glitch was amplifying the emotional residue, then reversing that process might stabilize Dalton. But how?

The faint sound of footsteps snapped him out of his thoughts. He froze, listening intently as the sound grew louder, then stopped. A figure stepped out from behind a shelf, and Bennett’s heart skipped a beat.

It was a girl, probably his age, with shoulder-length dark hair tucked behind her ears. She wore an oversized jacket and sneakers, her hands stuffed casually into her pockets. Her gaze landed on him, curious but unafraid.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, tilting her head. “The library’s closed.

Bennett stared at her for a moment, the pen still clutched in his hand. He lowered his shirt. His first instinct was to lie or make an excuse. But then, he thought, Why bother? She wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. None of them ever did.

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” he said bluntly, dropping the pen onto the desk. “Day ninety-four.”

Instead of the confusion or disbelief he expected, the girl just nodded, as if he’d told her something as ordinary as the weather forecast. “That’s rough,” she responded.

Bennett blinked. “And why have you broken into the library at five in the morning?”

The girl just shrugged. “Wanted to see if I could.”

An awkward beat passed.

“So,” the girl finally said, “do you want any help?”

“Help?”

“With the whole time loop thing.”

Bennett frowned, suspicious. “You believe me? Just like that?”

“Yeah, why not? If you’re lying, whatever. If you’re telling the truth, helping you get out of a time loop is probably the coolest thing I’ve done in a while.”

Her logic was unsettlingly calm, but Bennett couldn’t deny the flicker of relief he felt at her offer. Ninety-four days of carrying this alone had frayed his nerves, and though he didn’t trust her yet, it was tempting to let someone else share the load for once.

Bennett studied her. The faint emergency lighting cast long shadows across her face, but her expression was relaxed, even playful. She looked as if she were discussing a movie plot, not the unraveling of reality.

“What’s your name?” he asked cautiously.

“Meiling,” she replied. “And yours?”

“Bennett.” He took a deep breath. “Well, Meiling, if you’re serious about helping, I don’t know how much use you’ll be. I’ve been at this for three months, and nothing’s worked. Unless you’ve got a PhD in physics or magic tricks, I’m not holding my breath.”

“Wow, three months?” She whistled low. “That’s a long time to be stuck in one day. What’s the deal? You have to save the world or something?”

“Something like that.”

Meiling tapped a finger on her chin. “Alright, hit me with it. What’s the situation?”

Bennett hesitated. The idea of explaining everything felt exhausting, but her easy acceptance of his predicament was oddly comforting. Maybe talking it through with someone new could help.

“Fine. Long story short: there’s this guy. He’s… unstable. Every time the day resets, it gets worse. I’ve tried talking him down, restraining him, everything. Nothing sticks because the loop resets it all.”

“Sounds like a tough gig,” she said. “So, what’s your next move?”

Bennett frowned. “That’s the problem. I don’t have one. I was hoping to figure something out here.” He lifted his shirt, showing off the notes he scrawled on his stomach with the pen. “But so far, all I’ve got is a theory that emotional residue doesn’t reset like everything else.”

“Sorry, I’m not trying to change the subject, but why are you writing all over yourself?”

“The ink on my skin doesn’t reset with the loop. If I wrote this down on paper, I’d just lose it tomorrow.”

Meiling raised her eyebrows. “Smart. A little weird, but smart.” She put her hands on her hips. “Alright, Bennett. You’ve got emotional residue, an unstable friend, and ninety-four failures under your belt. Let’s make sure the number doesn’t keep adding up.”

Bennett snorted. “Easy for you to say. I’ve tried almost everything.”

“Well, surely not everything. Explain it to me. What do we know so far?”

He let out a long breath. “Alright, I’ll explain, but you’re probably going to think I’m insane.”

Meiling leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms. “Try me.”

“Every day, I wake up at 4:28. No matter what happens during the day—no matter what I do, or what I try—it always ends the same way.”

Meiling tilted her head. “The same how?”

“I die,” Bennett said flatly. His voice didn’t waver, but he shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Every single day. Sometimes it’s quick. Sometimes it’s… not. But no matter what, the loop resets the moment I die, and I wake up in my room like none of it ever happened.”

Meiling’s brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“It’s been ninety-four days,” Bennett continued, his tone bitter. “Ninety-four times I’ve watched everything fall apart. Ninety-four times I’ve tried to stop it, to fix things, and every time I fail. I keep dying, and the world keeps spinning like it doesn’t even care.”

He looked up at her, waiting for the skepticism, the pity, the disbelief. But Meiling just nodded thoughtfully, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“You die every day?”

“Yeah.” Bennett said, his voice edged with bitterness. “Every time I bite it, the loop starts over. It’s like the universe has decided my death is some kind of checkpoint.”

“That sounds like absolute hell,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

Meiling frowned, leaning forward slightly. “So, if you stayed alive—”

“—The loop wouldn’t reset,” Bennett finished. 

“But if you know you’re going to die, why don’t you just… not leave your room? Stay put, ride it out.”

Bennett shook his head, a harsh laugh escaping him. “Believe me, I’ve tried. But I can’t bring myself to do it. That’s not an option right now. Not with Dalton getting worse every day. If someone finds out about him, or if he hurts someone... I can’t let that happen.”

“Dalton?”

He nodded. “He’s my friend.”

Meiling hummed. “What happens?”

Bennett hesitated. “It’s complicated. I don’t even fully understand it myself, but it’s bad. And the longer this loop goes on, the worse it gets. I’ve seen it spiral out of control too many times already. I have to stop him, but every time I try, I die before I can make it work.”

Meiling was quiet for a moment, her fingers drumming idly against her arm. Then she straightened up. “Okay,” she said, her tone brisk and decisive. “So, here’s what we’re going to do: we’re going to stop Dalton from doing whatever this terrible thing is, and we’re going to make sure you don’t die in the process. Deal?”

Bennett blinked at her. “That’s what I’ve been doing for the past ninety-four days.”

“But now you have me.”

Bennett didn’t know whether to feel relieved or uneasy. Meiling’s confidence was infectious, but her involvement complicated everything. People finding out about Dalton’s abilities is exactly what Bennett has been trying to prevent for the past ninety-four days. Telling Meiling what was going on seemed like another problem he’d have to figure out later. 

“Right,” Bennett muttered, glancing at her. “You’re all in, huh?”

Meiling shrugged. “You’ve been stuck in some twisted time prison for three months, fighting to stop a catastrophe. Someone’s gotta have your back.” She tilted her head, studying him. “Unless you think I’m just going to get in your way.”

 “I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” Meiling said. “You trust me enough to explain the whole you-die-every-day thing, but not enough to tell me what we’re walking into?”

Bennett chewed on his lip.

“You said Dalton’s your friend,” Meiling added. “If he’s in trouble, wouldn’t he want help?”

Bennett laughed bitterly. “You don’t know Dalton.”

Meiling folded her arms. “Then introduce me.”

“It’s not that easy. He… he doesn’t trust people. Especially strangers.”

“I don’t need him to trust me,” Meiling said, her voice calm but firm. “I just need him to trust you.”

Bennett swallowed the lump in his throat. Finally, he nodded. “Alright, let’s go.”

...

They reached the corner where Dalton’s house came into view. Bennett stopped, glancing over at Meiling.

“This is it?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes scanning the house warily.

“Yeah.”

They approached the door, Bennett already preparing himself for a disaster. He knocked.

Dalton’s footsteps could be heard from outside. Each pounding step made Bennett’s heart sink lower and lower into his stomach. The door opened; Dalton stood in the frame with a confused expression. He already looked a couple inches taller than usual. 

“Bennett?” He asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” 

Dalton’s eyes cut to Meiling. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is Meiling,” Bennett told him, already uncertain. “We, uh—”

Dalton cut him off. “Come inside, I’m kind of in a rush. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Bennett exchanged a look with Meiling, then took a breath. “That’s actually why we’re here. I really think you shouldn’t go to your showcase.”

Dalton paused. Bennett could see the confusion turning in his eyes. “Why not?”

“Just trust me on this,” Bennett said, trying to sound confident. “Something isn't right. If you go—”

“I can’t just not go. It’s worth half my grade.”

“I really think you should skip.”

Dalton’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s not just about me. My group and I have been working on this project for months. They’re counting on me to be there. If I don’t show up, I screw over everyone else, too.”

Meiling leaned against the wall, arms folded. “It’s not screwing them over if it’s for a good reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” Dalton asked, his eyes narrowing.

Bennett glanced over at Meiling. He couldn’t mention Dalton’s powers in front of her, that would send him over the edge for sure.

“Just listen to me,” Bennett pleased. “You don’t understand how serious this is.”

“You show up with some random girl to tell me—what? That I’m supposed to ditch the showcase I’ve been killing myself over? Come on.”

Meiling leaned against the wall, watching them carefully. “No one’s saying you have to drop the ball. Just—can’t you postpone for a few hours? Something’s off, and it’s safer if you stay here.”

Dalton paused, his bag slung over one shoulder. His brow furrowed as he glanced between them. “Safer? What’s going on, Bennett? You’re acting weird. And who even is she?”

“She’s… helping me,” Bennett said quickly, though the vagueness didn’t seem to ease Dalton’s suspicion. “You’ve just got to trust me, okay? If you leave, something bad will happen.”

Dalton hesitated, his grip tightening on the strap of his bag. “Bennett, I do trust you. But this—this doesn’t make sense.”

Before Bennett could respond, Dalton winced and staggered, grabbing at his chest. His entire body twitched as if something deep inside him had suddenly shifted.

“Dalton?” Bennett’s voice rose, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Dalton clutched at the doorframe, his fingers leaving faint indentations in the wood. His shoulders seemed broader, his posture subtly changing. Then his frame started to expand—gradual at first, but quickly gaining momentum. His height surged upward, his arms stretching unnaturally long, muscles swelling beneath his skin.

“Dalton!” Bennett shouted, stepping forward. “You need to stop it.”

“I’m trying!” Dalton’s voice cracked, deeper than before. His knees buckled as he tried to crouch, but his growing limbs collided with the walls and ceiling, splintering wood and drywall.

“Bennett, what’s happening?” Meiling’s voice was sharp, panic creeping in.

“Just stay back!” Bennett shouted, his focus fixed on Dalton. “Dalton, you have to calm down!”

“I—I can’t!” Dalton’s arms flailed as he tried to brace himself, one of his massive hands knocking over a side table and sending it skittering across the room. His legs stretched awkwardly, one knee slamming into the wall and leaving a deep dent. The house groaned under the strain of his ever-expanding form.

“Bennett, what do we do?” Meiling’s voice was high and tight, barely masking her panic. She dodged another one of Dalton’s flailing limbs as it crashed into a lamp, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor.

Bennett’s mind raced. “Dalton, listen to me!” he shouted, stepping closer despite the chaos. “You need to focus. Breathe. Try to stop yourself!”

“I don’t know how!” Dalton cried, his voice booming now, full of raw fear. His enormous frame hunched awkwardly in the cramped room, limbs jerking in desperate, uncoordinated movements. One arm swung wide, knocking into the wall and tearing it open like paper.

The ground trembled beneath their feet as Dalton grew larger still, his back pressing against the ceiling. The room itself seemed to shrink around him.

“We need to get out of here,” Meiling yelled, grabbing Bennett’s arm, but Dalton’s rapidly expanding leg slammed into the floor, blocking the exit.

“Dalton!” Bennett yelled again, but his voice cracked with the strain. He could barely hear himself over the groaning of the structure. Dalton’s head tilted toward him, his massive, terrified eyes locking on Bennett’s face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dalton said, his voice trembling with desperation. “I don’t… I can’t control this!”

The words had barely left his mouth when a massive piece of ceiling collapsed, hurtling straight toward Bennett.

“Bennett, move!” Meiling shouted. In a blur of motion, she darted forward faster than humanly possible. One moment she was across the room, and the next she was at Bennett’s side, pulling him out of harm’s way just as the debris slammed into the ground where he’d stood.

The two tumbled to the floor, Bennett gasping for breath as his mind struggled to process what had just happened. “What the fuck?” he wheezed, staring at Meiling with wide eyes. “How did you—what—what was that?”

Meiling didn’t answer. She didn’t have time. Dalton’s leg shifted again, the massive limb sweeping toward them like a wrecking ball. She grabbed Bennett, hauling him to his feet, but her own movement was too quick and disjointed. One of Dalton’s enormous arms crashed down, pinning her against the wall. She struggled, useless against the sheer size of him.

“Meiling!” Bennett shouted, scrambling toward her, but Dalton’s foot shifted again, and the ground beneath Bennett gave way. He stumbled, landing hard on his back as a massive chunk of debris splintered from above and came crashing down.

“Bennett, no!” Meiling screamed, her voice raw as she strained against the massive limb trapping her. She pushed with everything she had, but Dalton’s weight was too much. She was stuck, helpless to move as the wreckage crushed Bennett beneath its weight.

Dalton froze, his massive form trembling as he realized what had happened. “No… no…” His voice was a whisper, full of horror, though it echoed like a thunderclap through the ruined room. “I didn’t mean to…”

Meiling’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the world seemed to go silent except for the sound of Dalton’s ragged breathing.

Bennett lay there, unmoving, the world pressing in on him from all sides. His vision blurred at the edges, darkness creeping in as the sound of Dalton’s sobs became distant. Everything felt muffled, like the chaos unfolding around him was happening underwater, the weight of his own body sinking him deeper into nothingness. The pain in his chest was overwhelming, suffocating. He couldn’t hold on anymore.

And then, everything stopped.

It was as if the universe itself had decided to freeze, to hold its breath. The weight of the debris pressing down on him seemed to fade, the pain dulling into something almost unbearable, yet distant. Time warped, stretched like taffy, and for a moment, Bennett felt as if he were drifting, floating in a space without up or down.

And then...

Bennett’s chest heaved, a sharp, jagged inhale ripping through him. Oxygen burned as it filled his lungs, the rawness of it grounding him back into reality. 

The room was still. The weight of his body sank into the softness of the bed, the quiet of the early morning settling around him like a blanket.

His eyes fluttered open. The sun had not yet risen, the day still untouched by the nightmare that had just passed. Bennett was alive. But somehow, everything had changed.

He wished Josiah was here. Of course, his cursed time loop started the day after Josiah left campus to visit home. The universe had its own unique way of making him miserable. 

The store didn’t open until 8:00 am and Bennett had four hours to come up with a plan. Nothing he’d tried thus far had worked, but he had to keep trying if he ever wanted to make it out of this alive. And he meant that quite literally. 

He got dressed, putting on the same yellow hoodie that he had worn since the loop started. It never got dirty, so why not? The mud stains, the sweat, the spilled drinks, and the blood had always disappeared when the day reset. No one remembered the failures, the embarrassment, and the near-death experiences (or were they simply death experiences?) but Bennett, and he had nothing to show for all the horrors he’d been through. 

Bennett just wished he could go back to sleep. The thought had occurred to him before, many, many times. But no, he couldn’t. He had something important to take care of. 

Bennett had been sitting outside of Dalton’s house for three and a half hours before Dalton finally opened the door. He jumped at the sight of the Bennett sitting on his front step, instantly growing a few inches. He put a hand to his chest, trying to calm himself down before he could grow anymore.

“Shit, Bennett,” Dalton said, voice weak like he was out of breath. “What the hell are you doing here? And how long have you been here?”

“Since 4:30.” Bennett stood now, craning his head back to look Dalton in the eye. 

“And you didn’t knock because?”

“I figured you needed your beauty rest.” Bennett patted Dalton on the chest. “And I needed time to think.”

“Okay, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I really don’t have time for whatever it is. I’ve gotta…” Dalton’s voice trailed off and he ducked back into his house. 

Bennett followed him inside, closing the door behind him and lingering in the living room. Dalton’s voice called out from the bathroom: “Do I look too unnaturally tall to go out?”

“Yes,” Bennett responded, knowing that no matter what he said it wouldn’t change Dalton’s mind. “You’re like, six-ten right now, dude.”

Dalton groaned. “I don’t really have a choice; I need to go.”

He appeared from the bathroom, stalking down the hallway. “It’ll probably wear off after a while, I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Yeah, except it won’t,” Bennett muttered, watching as Dalton grabbed a faded backpack off the floor and slung it over one shoulder. “Where exactly are you going this early anyway?”

Bennett, obviously, knew the answer already. 

“It’s nothing, just something for class.”

“Why won’t you just tell me you’re going to your art showcase?”

Dalton’s height seemed to waver with the question, his head nearly brushing the low ceiling now.

Bennett pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dalton, this is exactly why I’m here. Something is wrong with you. Something is wrong with everything. And if we don’t figure it out, we’re just gonna keep doing this dance until one of us—” He stopped himself, his voice catching. “Until one of us can’t anymore.”

Dalton turned back, his face tight with irritation but softened by a flicker of concern. “What are you talking about?”

Bennett hesitated. He hadn’t wanted to do this now, not before he’d had time to think things through. But there was no other way. “We’re stuck, Dalton. Or, I’m stuck. In a loop. Every day, the same shit happens—me waking up at an ungodly hour of the morning, you freaking out and growing in public—and every day, I have to start over like none of it ever happened.”

Dalton stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then he laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

Dalton ran both hands through his hair, exhaling hard out of his nose. “I can’t just not go,” he finally said. “It’s worth half my grade.”

“Who shows up for school events on Saturdays anyway?” Bennett countered, trying to lighten the mood at least a little. “You should skip, I’m sure everyone will understand.”

“It’s not just about me. My group and I have been working on this project for months. They’re counting on me to be there. If I don’t show up, I screw over everyone else, too.”

“Look, I get it,” Bennett said after a pause. “You don’t want to let anyone down. But maybe—”

“No ‘maybe,’” Dalton interrupted, grabbing his keys from the counter. “I’m going. I have to. I can’t just stop living because of this… whatever this is.”

Bennett stared at him, torn between wanting to argue and knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “Fine. But I’m warning you. It’s not pretty.”

“Noted,” Dalton said dryly, already heading for the door.

The drive to campus was tense, Dalton practically vibrating with nervous energy. Bennett sat silently in the passenger seat of his car keeping an eye on him, half-expecting a sudden growth spurt at any moment.

By the time they parked outside the building, Dalton’s breathing was shallow, his grip tight on the steering wheel. Groups of students and professors were heading inside, some just milling around the entrance.

“Last chance to bail,” Bennett said quietly.

Dalton shot him a look. “Not happening.”

He climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut. Bennett sighed, leaning against the hood as Dalton disappeared into the crowd. He watched him go; shoulders stiff but head held high. Bennett gave him a moment—gave himself a moment—before he followed him inside, trying to prepare for what was going to happen.

...

Bennett stood at the back of the room, his gaze fixed on Dalton as he fidgeted nervously at the podium. Dalton’s eyes flickered toward the crowd, his face pale, a sheen of sweat already forming on his forehead. Bennett could tell he was barely holding it together. He’d seen Dalton like this before—flustered and anxious—but this time it seemed worse. The anxiety radiated off him in waves.

Dalton cleared his throat and adjusted the microphone, his hands shaking. “Uh, hi, I’m Dalton Richards. We… um.” His voice wavered.

Bennett’s heart clenched at the sight. He’d never seen Dalton this nervous, and they were all depending on him. But Dalton’s words were faltering. The audience watched, waiting, and Dalton seemed to shrink under the weight of their expectation.

The lights above glared down like a hot spotlight, making Dalton squint. He gestured toward the projected image of their mural, and Bennett could see his hands trembling. “Our work reflects transformation. And, uh, perseverance,” Dalton stammered.

Bennett’s stomach dropped. He wanted to do something, anything, to make Dalton feel better, but all he could do was watch.

Then, a faint cough echoed through the room, and it was like a switch flipped. Dalton’s eyes went wide, his breathing shallow. The sound of the cough ricocheted off the walls, and Bennett could see Dalton's face twist in discomfort. His chest heaved with each breath, and something in his posture changed.

Bennett swallowed, already knowing what was happening. His heart began to hammer in his chest. Dalton’s whole body was tense, his hands gripping the podium, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I—” Dalton’s words broke off as his chest tightened. The look on his face shifted, panic flashing in his eyes. Bennett’s pulse quickened as he watched his friend stumble, his knees buckling beneath him.

Dalton was growing. His limbs, his torso—everything about him was expanding, elongating in a way that defied reason.

“Are you alright?” one of Dalton’s groupmates whispered, their voice tinged with fear.

But Dalton wasn’t alright. His breaths were ragged, his body shifting uncontrollably as his height surged. The stage groaned under the strain, and the crowd murmured in alarm. Bennett could see the chaos spreading, whispers turning into shouts.

“Dalton!” Bennett called out, pushing through the crowd. His feet carried him toward the stage without thinking, his heart pounding in his ears. He had to get to him. He had to help.

But as he reached the front, Dalton's body surged again. He went down to his knees with a bone-shattering crash. The stage splintered beneath him, sending a jagged piece of wood flying toward Bennett.

Bennett didn’t have time to move. The wood struck him with brutal force, digging into his side. Pain exploded through him as he staggered back, clutching his ribs. Blood soaked his shirt almost immediately.

“Bennett!” Dalton's voice rang out, desperate and raw, but it was too late. Bennett felt his knees give way, the world spinning as he crumpled to the ground. The pain in his side was overwhelming, but worse was the look on Dalton’s face—horror, guilt, and fear all mixed together.

Bennett tried to focus, but his vision was blurry. The world around him seemed to fade as he felt himself slipping, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His hand pressed against the wound, but the blood kept flowing, too much too quickly.

The shrieks of the crowd were distant now, a faint blur of noise. All Bennett could focus on was Dalton, towering above him. His friend’s eyes were wide, panicked, but there was nothing he could do. Bennett couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move.

He just... couldn’t breathe.

Everything felt like it was happening underwater, the edges of his vision darkening. He couldn’t hold on anymore.

And then, everything stopped. The world went still. The pain, the panic, the crowd—it all slowed. Time seemed to stretch, and for a moment, Bennett felt weightless. It was like a second passed, or maybe an eternity. He couldn’t tell.

And then...

Bennett gasped, his chest jerking with a sharp intake of air. The sudden rush of oxygen burned in his lungs, but he was awake—alive. His hand still clutched his side, but when he pulled away there was no blood, no sign of injury. He was in his bed and the sun had yet to rise.  

Part 2

Bennett’s fingers twitched at the thought of Josiah having left without telling him, but that didn’t feel like something he would do. He wasn’t the type to leave without a note or go off without warning. 

Maybe he was out with someone? 

He tapped out a text:

Hey, ready to go?

Bennett stared at the screen for a moment, tapping the edge of the phone with his thumb. The soft buzz of his phone vibrating in his hand made him jump. A new message from Josiah popped up:

Something came up, we’ll have to reschedule.

Bennett’s stomach dropped. He stared at the text, wondering what the hell had come up. It wasn’t like Josiah to leave him hanging like this. They’d been roommates for three years now. They usually made time for each other, even when their schedules were busy.

He frowned, glancing back at Josiah’s open laptop and his shoes discarded by the door. What could have come up?

He sighed, texting back quickly:

Alright. I’m gonna go hang with Rory and Dalton. Let me know if you need anything.

No reply.

Bennett’s frustration twisted into something that was hard to name. He stuffed the phone into his pocket and turned to leave. As he stepped out of the room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Something in the pit of his stomach, nagging at him.

…

Josiah sat huddled in the corner of the room, his knees pulled up to his chest, trying to make himself smaller. His entire body felt like it was vibrating with the weight of the silence that pressed down on him. He had been invisible for hours now, trapped in this strange, suffocating state, and he couldn’t shake the deep, gnawing fear that had rooted itself in his gut.

Why was this happening? What was going on with him?

His hands trembled, and he gripped the edges of his knees harder, desperate to hold onto something real, something that grounded him. But everything around him felt so… distant. The air, the walls, the desk. Even his own skin.

He tried to focus, tried to think clearly, but his thoughts kept scattering like dust in the wind, like the particles of himself that had slipped away each time he became invisible. Josiah didn’t know how long this would last, didn’t know when it would end—or if it would end.

What was he supposed to do? How could he explain this?

He couldn’t tell anyone. He couldn’t tell Bennett.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, but no words came. The fear clawed at him, suffocating, constricting his chest. Every time he tried to speak, nothing came out. It was as if the very air around him had turned against him, and all he was left with was the oppressive weight of his own isolation.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, dragging him out of his spiraling thoughts. He fumbled to pull it out, his fingers uncoordinated, shaking as he stared at Bennett’s message.

Hey, ready to go?

Josiah’s heart sank. He stared at the message for a long moment, his mind racing with a thousand conflicting emotions. He wanted to tell Bennett the truth. He wanted to scream it out, to explain everything that had been happening, all the fear and the confusion, the way his body felt like it was slipping away piece by piece. But he couldn’t.

With shaking hands, he typed a response, his fingers stumbling over the keys:

Something came up, we’ll have to reschedule.

The lie burned as it left his fingertips. He felt sick to his stomach. Bennett deserved better than this. He deserved honesty. But Josiah couldn’t give him that. Not when his own reality was falling apart.

The phone buzzed again—Bennett’s reply:

Alright. I’m gonna go hang with Rory and Dalton. Let me know if you need anything.

Josiah’s chest tightened painfully at the words. He pressed the phone to his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut as the tears threatened to spill over. He wanted to reach out. He wanted so badly to collapse into Bennett’s arms and tell him everything, but the fear, the shame, the sense of not being enough, it all held him back.

He could already feel the distance growing between them, even though Bennett hadn’t even left the room yet. It was like Josiah had already disappeared, and no one even noticed.

A small, broken sob escaped him before he could stop it. He wiped it away quickly, but it didn’t help. The fear was still there. It was always there.

Everything was slipping.

Josiah couldn’t breathe.

The door clicked shut, and the sound of Bennett’s footsteps faded down the hallway. Josiah was alone. Truly, utterly alone.

He let out a shaky breath, one that he hadn’t realized he was holding. His hands ghosted over his arms, but the sensation felt wrong. Dull. Like his own body wasn’t entirely real. It was always like this when he turned invisible—like he was barely tethered to the world, barely there. 

Josiah’s gaze flicked to the mirror above the dresser, a habit he hadn’t been able to shake even though he knew what he’d see. Or rather, what he wouldn’t. The glass reflected the room back at him, empty and undisturbed, as if he didn’t exist at all.

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms just hard enough to ground himself in the pain. But even that sensation felt muted, like trying to feel through a layer of thick fog.

This was his life now. His new normal.

It had started so suddenly, out of nowhere. One day, he was just Josiah Lowell, a philosophy major trudging through midterms and trying to figure out what the hell he was doing with his life. And then the mirror had lost his reflection. He’d stared at it for what felt like hours, trying to make sense of the impossible, trying to convince himself it was some kind of prank or hallucination or anything but reality.

But it wasn’t a prank. It wasn’t a trick.

It was him.

And now, the spells came without warning, without pattern, leaving him untethered from everything he thought he knew. He couldn’t predict them, couldn’t control them. He’d wake up one morning perfectly fine, and by lunchtime, he’d be gone, his body fading into nothingness like sand slipping through his fingers.

He’d tried to figure it out. God, he’d tried. He’d kept journals, tracked everything he ate, every place he went, every emotion he felt. But nothing made sense. It wasn’t tied to stress, or exhaustion, or even some weird cosmic punishment—not that he hadn’t considered the possibility.

Josiah rubbed at his face—or he thought he did. His hands passed over where his cheekbones should have been, but there was no texture, no warmth, just the faintest whisper of sensation.

Every time it happened, it felt like he was losing something more. Not just his visibility, but some part of himself. His senses dulled, his reflection disappeared, and with each spell, he felt less there. Less real.

What was he even turning into?

Josiah wanted to scream, to punch something, to do anything to feel alive, but he was too afraid of what would happen if he lost control. What if he couldn’t come back? What if one day he just… faded away entirely? Would anyone even notice? Would they care?

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t matter. Darkness surrounded him whether his eyes were open or closed.

And Bennett—Bennett didn’t know. Couldn’t know.

Josiah’s breath hitched. He wanted to call Bennett back, to ask him to stay, to help. But the words wouldn’t come. They were caught in his throat, stuck beneath the weight of his fear and shame.

He rolled over on his back, turning his head to face her. His eyes were red and angry. “Can you take me home, please?” Dalton asked her, closing his eyes like he was fighting back more tears. 

Rory glanced back at Bennett one more time before very carefully scooping Dalton into her hands. He groaned at the movement. 

As Rory was leaving, she regarded Bennett. He watched her numbly. “I’ll come back later, okay?” Rory said, holding the door open with her hip. 

Bennett just nodded. 

Now at Dalton’s house, Rory wasn’t sure what to do for him. He was angry and upset, small and helpless. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone but Rory couldn’t bring herself to leave him in good conscience. 

“I knew he was too reckless,” Dalton said, his voice hard and laced with venom as he stared at his reflection. “I knew it the moment I met him that something like this was going to happen.”

Rory was quiet, still watching his small figure examine himself in the mirror.

“And the worst part,” Dalton continued, “was that I let it happen.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Rory responded, sympathy twanging deep in her chest.

“It’s not,” was Dalton’s short answer. “It’s Bennett’s. He’s too unpredictable. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. He never thinks. This could have all been avoided if he would just use his stupid brain!” 

Rory didn’t say anything. The air in Dalton’s house felt thick, suffocating almost. Rory could feel the weight of Dalton’s words, the sharpness of his anger—a heaviness she could practically touch as it settled between them. She had been in this position before, trying to soothe someone who didn’t want comfort. It never felt easy.

Dalton continued to stare at his reflection, his tiny form so vulnerable in contrast to the fury in his voice. He had a way of making everything seem like a disaster, as if the world was always crumbling around him. Rory didn’t know if it was his usual self-destructive streak or the aftermath of what had happened with Bennett. Probably both.

“Dalton, it’s not all on Bennett,” she said softly, her voice tentative but firm, hoping he could hear her through the layers of his anger.

Dalton scoffed, the sound small but biting. “You don't get it. He's dangerous. One minute he’s fine, and the next—” He stopped himself abruptly, his voice cracking. The vulnerability underneath the anger was hard to miss. “I thought I could trust him,” he muttered, his eyes drifting back to the mirror, his expression changing from rage to something quieter, sadder. “But I should’ve known better.”

Rory didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she just moved closer, kneeling next to him on the counter, keeping her distance but offering a presence, the kind that didn’t ask questions or try to fix things. Just someone to listen. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Dalton,” Rory said. “Bennett’s just... He’s still learning, just like us. You both are. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s just a moment.”

Dalton’s eyes flicked toward her, but his face remained tight, the corners of his lips pressed into a line of frustration. His small form seemed so fragile against the vastness of the bathroom counter, yet the intensity in his gaze was anything but small.

“Moment?” he repeated, his voice low and bitter, “This is more than a moment, Rory. He nearly killed me.” He sucked in a shaky breath, his fists clenched at his sides, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. “I don’t care if he’s learning, okay? I’m the one who pays for his mistakes.”

Rory felt a stab of helplessness as she watched him, wishing there was more she could do—more than just listen, more than just offer hollow assurances. She understood his anger, his frustration. It was so much easier to lash out, to blame someone else for the pain, especially when that someone was someone you thought you could trust.

She opened her mouth, ready to offer more words, but Dalton cut her off before she could speak.

“I shouldn’t have trusted him. I should’ve known better. It’s always the same with me—people get close, and then they—” He trailed off, swallowing hard. His voice cracked with the rawness of the emotion, but it wasn’t just about Bennett anymore, Rory realized. It was about the constant cycle that Dalton had somehow resigned himself to. Trusting people, letting them in, only to get hurt.

The air between them thickened with the weight of unspoken words. Rory’s fingers twitched, unsure of whether to reach for him or give him the space he so obviously wanted. Instead, she settled for her words.

“You deserve better than this,” Rory finally whispered. “Better than feeling like this... all the time.”

Dalton shifted slightly, the first hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes, though he quickly masked it with a sharp inhale.

“Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I know.”

They sat in silene for a moment. Eventually, Dalton spoke again, his tone quieter now, almost apologetic. “I’m sorry, Rory. I don’t mean to be... this way. It’s just... a lot.”

“I know,” Rory replied gently.

Finally, she stood up from the counter. “I should let you rest. You’ve been through enough for today. But I’ll check in on you later, okay?”

Dalton gave a small nod, not quite meeting her eyes. “Yeah. Thanks, Rory.”

“Take care of yourself,” Rory said softly, her hand on the doorknob, looking back at him one last time before stepping into the hallway.

Dalton didn’t respond, but she knew he’d heard her.

…

Rory knocked softly on Bennett’s dorm room door, the sound a gentle tap against the heavy silence that seemed to hang over the hallway. She waited for a response, but there was nothing but stillness on the other side. She pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking as she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tightly shut, leaving only a faint sliver of light filtering through the edges. Bennett was sitting on the bed, his face buried in his hands, his body shaking with silent sobs. The sight of him, so raw and vulnerable, took Rory by surprise. She had always seen him as confident, maybe even reckless, but never like this.

“Bennett?”

Bennett lifted his head slowly at the sound of her voice, his eyes red and swollen, the weight of his guilt palpable in the room. His face crumpled again, and he buried his face in his hands once more, letting out a muffled sob.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Bennett said, his voice barely a whisper, thick with regret. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know, Rory. I didn’t know how fragile he was when he was that small. I thought I was just… But I didn’t realize how much I could hurt him.” His words were tangled in his grief, and Rory could hear the guilt twisting his insides.

“You didn’t know,” Rory said gently, her voice calm but firm.

Bennett shook his head, his hands still gripping his face as if trying to block out the shame. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve… I thought it was all fun, Rory. I thought—hell, I thought it was cool, you know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.” His voice cracked, and he lowered his hands to his lap, his eyes vacant as he stared at the floor. “I don’t know how to fix it. How can I fix it after everything that’s happened?”

“Maybe you don’t need to fix it right away,” Rory said after a pause, her voice thoughtful. “Maybe you just need to be there for him. Show him that you care. You don’t have to have all the answers, Bennett. Just listen to him. Let him know that you’re sorry. And don’t push him. Let him come to you when he’s ready. That’s how you can start.”

Bennett looked up at her then, his eyes still full of confusion and pain. It was as if the weight of her words was just starting to settle on him, too heavy to lift on his own. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Instead, he closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head again.

“I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me,” he muttered, his voice strained and brittle. “I don’t know how to show him that I didn’t mean for any of this. I just wanted to—” He stopped himself, running a shaky hand through his hair. Bennett wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his emotions. He let out a shuddering breath before speaking again, quieter this time, almost to himself.

“I don’t even know what to say to him. What if it’s too late? What if he hates me?”

Rory’s expression softened. “You don’t know unless you try. And if you don’t try, you’ll regret it.”

Bennett sat there for a moment, quiet, as if weighing her words. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I’ll talk to him,” Bennett said finally, his voice steadier now, though still threaded with doubt. “I don’t know what I’ll say, but I’ll talk to him.”

Rory smiled softly, her hand resting on his shoulder, grounding him. “That’s all you can do, Bennett. Just be honest. The rest will come with time.”