Page 195 of Hymns of the Broken
For Riot, too.
But admitting it feels like handing over a loaded gun with the safety off.
And yet, something about waking up here, tangled between their memory and warmth, makes me feel like maybe I can say it someday.
Maybe love doesn’t have to be a wound waiting to happen.
Maybe it can be a promise.
I push the covers back and slip into the hoodie draped across the foot of the bed—Jasper’s, from the scent of it—and quietly pad into the hallway. The house is dark, still humming with the quiet of late night. Maybe early morning.
I make it to the kitchen without turning on any lights. The tap runs for a second before I fill a glass, the cold stinging against my fingers.
“You always up this early?”
I jump a little, water sloshing over the rim of the glass.
Micah leans in the doorway, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, clearly fresh from sleep. He lifts a hand in apology. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, brushing my fingers dry on Jasper’s sleeve. “Just… couldn’t sleep.”
Micah walks in and opens the fridge, pulling out something that looks like cold pizza. “You alright?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. Just processing, I guess.”
He doesn’t push. Just takes a bite, chews, and then leans back against the counter, watching me.
“You know,” he says after a moment, “they were wrecks when you left.”
My eyes flick up to his. “I know Jasper was…”
“Both of them,” Micah says gently. “Riot wouldn’t show it much, but he was quieter than I’ve ever seen him. Snapped at everyone who looked at him wrong. Jasper…” He huffs. “That man nearly burned the world down trying to find you.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“They love you,” Micah says simply. “I know you’ve been through hell. And I’m not saying it’s easy. But if you ever wonder whether any of this is real…” He shrugs. “It is.”
I stare down into my glass, the cold seeping into my hands.
“I’m trying,” I whisper. “To believe it. To believe I’m worth it.”
Micah pushes off the counter and sets the pizza down. “You are. Even if it takes you a while to see it.”
He turns to leave, as I clear my throat. “Hey… do you know where Riot is?”
Micah pauses mid-step, turning back to me. His expression shifts—just enough to confirm the worry I didn’t want to admit I was feeling.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “He’s in the basement.”
My fingers tighten slightly around the glass. “With Blake?”
Micah nods. “Don’t worry. He’s not doing anything reckless, just keeping him quiet. Making sure he doesn’t get ideas.”
I nod slowly, trying to absorb it. The image of Riot down there in the dark, near him, twists something sharp in my chest. Not because I doubt Riot. But because I know him. That rage he keeps just under the surface? It doesn’t settle easily. And Blake is gasoline poured on every raw nerve we all share.
“He’ll be back up soon,” Micah adds, softer now. “He just needed to… cool down after everything. You disappearing broke him a little, Sawyer. He doesn’t say it, but we see it.”
I look away, throat thick, emotions pressing like a bruise. “Thanks,” I murmur.
