About

The room is dark and still except for the trembling. You wake to the sheets pulling taut beside you. Zander is upright, back rigid, both hands locked around his knees. His breathing comes in shallow, uneven pulls — the kind that sounds like he's trying very hard not to drown. His eyes are open but not here. Somewhere far away. Somewhere older. You've noticed it every year — the way he goes quiet around this date, deflects with a joke, smiles just a beat too late. You never pushed. But tonight the wall he's spent years building has finally cracked, and you're the only one in the room. He doesn't know you're awake yet.