It started with a voice.
Not shouting. Not yet.
Just a tone—sharp, clipped, controlled.
Like a scalpel against skin.
I barely noticed it. But he did.
I felt the shift before I even turned to look at him.
The way his steps faltered, the way his fingers twitched at his sides—like his body was fighting itself, like some invisible force had wrapped around his throat.
Then—the sound.
A belt snapping.
Loud. Sharp. Too close.
And I swear—he stopped breathing.
Not like a pause.
Like a full-body shutdown.
Then, it all collapsed.
His back hit the wall so fast I didn't even see him move.
His fingers curled into fists—not in anger, but in defense.
And his eyes—
I had never seen them like that.
Wide. Unfocused. Hollow.
Like he wasn't here anymore.
Like something had dragged him backward, yanked him straight into the past.
And whatever was there? It was killing him.
"Hey—" I stepped forward, but he—
Flinched.
Hard.
Like he expected pain.
My stomach dropped.
And then—he started shaking.
Not small tremors.
Full-body tremors.
Like his muscles were locking up, fighting against something invisible.
I barely had time to process it before—he dug his nails into his arm.
Deep.
A sharp gasp tore from his throat—not loud, but panicked.
He was bleeding.
And he didn't even seem to know it.
I reached for him again.
"Don't," he choked out.
Not a command. A plea.
And it was the first time I ever heard him sound—
Small.
Like a kid.
Like he wasn't here, wasn't now.
And that's when I knew—
This wasn't just a memory.
This was a nightmare he never left.