distance between us | found family au ⋆˚࿔
✩.* found family masterlist
summary: in which garrett struggles with the quiet ache of feeling shut out by the person he loves most, as y/n seemingly leans on everyone but him.
notes: hi!! ahh my first angst for found family, i hope you all enjoy! thank you so much for this request, it broke my heart to write 🥹
it starts slowly. so slowly, garrett almost convinces himself he’s imagining it.
you’ve always had moments of quiet. moments where you disappeared inside your own head for a little while, where your smile softened at the edges and your answers became smaller, less detailed, like you were trying to preserve energy without admitting you were running out of it.
this feels different. this feels like watching you fold yourself smaller each day and pretending nothing is happening.
the first time he notices, you’re at the hockey house on a saturday morning, tucked into the corner of the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees, a half-empty mug of coffee cooling on the table beside you.
everyone else is loud. you’re there, technically, but not really. your eyes keep scanning the same paragraph on your screen, your fingers hover above the keyboard, your mouth pressed into a thin, tired line.
garrett watches you from the kitchen doorway. he has your favourite mug in his hand, the one you always reach for when you’re over.
he doesn’t say anything at first, just crosses the room quietly, setting it down beside your laptop before leaning over the back of the couch.
“you okay?” he asks softly. you blink like you’ve been pulled back from somewhere far away. you look up at him, and your face changes too quickly. smile first, answer second.
“yeah” you say. “just tired.”
garrett studies you. “you sure?”
you nod, already looking back at your laptop. “mhm.”
he doesn’t push because he knows you, sometimes pushing makes you retreat further. he kisses the top of your head instead, lets his hand rest briefly against the side of your neck, thumb brushing once beneath your ear.
“eat something soon,” he murmurs.
you don’t. he notices that too.
following that day, he notices everything.
garrett notices the texts that come hours later than usual, not absent, never fully absent, you still reply, still send him little updates when something funny happens, still send photos of your coffee, lecture slides, allie asleep in weird positions across your dorm bed.
but something about it feels thinner, as though you’re giving him proof of life instead of what's truly going on. he notices the way you stop coming by after class as often, the way you say you have readings to catch up on, the way you say you’re fine.
he starts hating the word.
one night, he calls you after practice. you answer on the fourth ring.
“hi,” you say, voice soft, clearly laced with exhaustion.
garrett leans against the wall outside the locker room, one hand still damp from his shower as he presses the phone closer to his ear.
you laugh lightly, too lightly. “rude.”
he smiles faintly, but it fades quickly. there’s a pause, he can hear papers shifting on your end, the quiet hum of your dorm room, the faint sound of allie’s music playing somewhere in the background.
“what are you doing?” he asks.
garrett’s brows pull together. “nothing with papers?”
you go quiet for half a second too long, then, “just study.”
“i can sit there and look pretty.” that gets a real laugh out of you, small, brief, but real. his chest loosens a little.
“so say yes.” another pause, this one feels worse.
“i think i’m just gonna sleep soon,” you say. garrett looks down at the floor, he knows you’re lying, not about being tired, about sleeping.
“okay,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do without sounding like he’s accusing you of something.
“call me if you need anything.”
you won’t, he knows that too.
allie notices the shifts more clearly at first, mostly because living with you makes the changes harder to miss. she notices the light under your door staying on past midnight.
then one, then two. then enough that she stops thinking of it as unusual.
she notices the way your laundry piles up in the corner because you keep telling yourself you’ll do it tomorrow. she notices the untouched dinners, the cold coffee, the emails open on your laptop that make your face go blank.
she tries, gently at first. “y/n,” she says one night, leaning against your doorway in one of dean’s hoodies. “when did you last eat something that wasn’t toast?”
you don’t look up from your laptop. “toast counts.”
“it was a concerning answer.”
you sigh, rubbing both hands over your face. “allie.”
her expression softens, not teasing now. “you’re scaring me a little.”
her words make you look up, guilt immediately settling into your chest. “don’t say that.”
“then stop looking like you’re one email away from fully combusting.”
you try to smile, it doesn’t work. allie steps into your room, sitting carefully on the edge of your bed.
“is this legal internship stuff?”
your throat tightens, you look back at your screen. “partly.”
you don’t answer, that is an answer in itself. allie exhales softly, “does garrett know?”
your fingers go still. “know what?”
you shut your laptop, not gently. “i’m handling it.”
allie gives you a look. “that wasn’t what i asked.”
you stand, suddenly unable to sit still, moving around your tiny dorm room like you have somewhere to go even though there is nowhere. you grab your water bottle, unscrew the lid, screw it back on without drinking.
“he has enough going on.”
allie’s face shifts. “oh, babe.”
you hate that, the softness, the pity. you turn away. “don’t.”
“i’m not doing anything.”
“you’re looking at me like that.”
allie’s voice is careful. “you are sad, y/n.”
your eyes burn immediately, you hate that even more. “i’m stressed,” you correct, too quickly. “there’s a difference.”
“and i don’t need garrett worrying about me on top of everything else. he has hockey and captain stuff and phil being weird again and-”
you turn back to her. “what is that supposed to mean?”
allie lifts her hands slightly. “nothing. i just mean, he would want to know.”
your jaw tightens. “i can’t.”
allie’s face softens again. “why not?”
if you tell garrett, really tell him, he’ll look at you like he sees all of it. you don’t know if you can survive being seen that clearly.
if you say it out loud, that you’re overwhelmed, that you feel like you’re failing, that every rejection feels personal, and every conversation at home makes your chest tight, it becomes real.
garrett will care, deeply. somehow that feels like too much, for now.
allie doesn’t push after that, but she remains even more worried.
garrett lasts another week. he tries, he really tries. he tries being patient, he tries being gentle, he tries letting you come to him when you’re ready.
every time he reaches for you, you slip away with a tired smile, a soft apology and a promise that everything is fine. the thing is, garrett knows fine. he knows your fine. he knows the difference between your annoyed fine, your sleepy fine, your 'don’t want to talk about it yet' fine.
this is none of those, this is a locked door, and he is standing on the wrong side of it.
the worst part is that you’re still sweet to him. you still curl into his side when you come over, still kiss him softly, still laugh when he says something dry under his breath, still steal his hoodies and forget to give them back.
but there’s distance, not physical, worse, emotional. you sit beside him and somehow feel incredibly far away.
it comes to a head on a friday night at the hockey house. it isn’t even meant to be a big night, just dinner after practice, everyone gathered around the living room with takeout containers spread across the coffee table and a movie playing in the background that nobody is watching.
you’re tucked beside garrett on the couch, knees drawn up, his hand resting lightly on your thigh. you’ve been quieter than usual. he can feel the tension in you, the way your body never fully relaxes against his, the way you keep checking your phone whenever it lights up, the way your face falls every time you read something before you smooth it over again.
he wants to ask, he has already asked, you have already lied. so he stays quiet.
dean says it. casually, carelessly, with no idea he’s stepping directly into something fragile. “oh,” dean says, pointing his fork towards you. “did you hear back from that firm yet?”
the room keeps moving for half a second, then stops. not dramatically, not all at once, but enough.
allie freezes, sabrina’s eyes flick towards you, logan stops mid-sentence, garrett’s hand stills on your thigh. you feel it immediately, your stomach dropping.
slowly, garrett turns his head towards you. “what firm?”
dean looks between you and garrett, his face changing.
“uh.” you sit up straighter. “dean.”
he lowers his fork. “shit.”
garrett doesn’t look at dean anymore, only you. “what firm?” he repeats. his voice is calm, too calm.
you swallow. “it’s nothing.”
something shifts in garrett’s expression, not anger, not yet, hurt. quiet and immediate. “don’t do that, y/n.”
your cheeks heat. everyone is watching, even though nobody wants to be. you can feel it, you hate it.
“garrett,” you say quietly. he removes his hand from your leg, not harshly, not dramatically, but the absence of it feels like a clear slap.
“you applied for internships?”
your throat tightens. “yes.”
you stare down at your hands. “a couple weeks ago.”
his jaw moves once. “a couple weeks.”
you don’t answer. dean looks like he wants the couch to swallow him. “g,” he starts. “i didn’t realise-”
“don’t,” garrett says. not sharp, not loud, just enough to stop him. dean shuts his mouth. garrett stands.
you look up quickly. “where are you going?”
he looks at you for a second, and it is awful. you would almost prefer anger. anger you could fight, anger you could meet with your own defensiveness, pride, hurt.
garrett just looks wounded, like something inside him has gone very still.
he walks away, the room is silent after him. for one unbearable second, nobody moves. allie says your name softly. you stand before she can say anything else. “i’m fine.”
nobody believes you, you follow him anyway.
garrett’s bedroom door is half open when you get there. he’s standing by the window, one hand braced against the sill, the other pressed to the back of his neck.
his shoulders are tense. you pause in the doorway, for a second, you almost leave. not because you don’t want to fix it, because you know this won’t be easy, you know he’s hurt, you know, deep down, he has every right to be.
you knock lightly, even though he already knows you’re there. garrett doesn’t turn around.
“can i come in?” you ask.
you step inside and close the door behind you. the sound feels too final.
the room is familiar in all the ways that usually comfort you. his hoodie over the desk chair, the water bottle by his bed, the framed photo tucker had taken after a home game, garrett’s arm around your shoulders, your face turned up toward him mid-laugh. you can barely look at it.
“i was going to tell you” you say.
garrett laughs once. it's quiet, empty.
you flinch. he turns around then, and his face makes your chest hurt.
he isn’t yelling, he isn’t furious. he just looks tired, hurt.
“i don’t know,” you admit.
he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “you don’t know.”
“i’ve had a lot going on.”
“yeah,” he says, voice roughening slightly. “i’m starting to get that.”
your arms fold over your chest before you can stop them. defensive, protective. “don’t do that.”
his eyebrows draw together. “do what?”
“make me feel like i’ve done something wrong.”
garrett stares at you. “you don’t think you did?”
your stomach twists. “i didn’t lie to you.”
“that’s not the same thing.”
your mouth closes. garrett drags a hand over his jaw, looking away like he’s trying very hard to keep himself under control.
“do you know how shitty it feels,” he says, quieter now, “hearing about something going on with you from someone else?”
your own hurt rises fast, too fast. you’re embarrassed, overwhelmed.
you already feel like you’re failing, and now even garrett is looking at you like you’ve failed him too.
“i didn’t ask anyone to tell you.”
his head snaps back towards you. “jesus y/n, that’s not the point.”
“the point is that i’m your boyfriend.” his voice cracks slightly around the word. he takes a breath, trying again. “i’m supposed to be the person you come to.”
your eyes burn. “you are.”
“no,” he says. one word, quiet, devastating.
you blink hard. “that’s not fair.”
“then tell me what’s going on.”
you look away, garrett’s silence deepens. there it is, the answer. your inability to answer. he nods once, almost to himself, and that hurts worse than anything else.
“no, seriously. tell me.” his voice is still controlled, but there’s something sharper underneath now. something fraying.
“because i’ve been asking for weeks. i’ve asked you if you’re okay, i’ve asked if you need help, i’ve asked if you want me to come over, and every single time, you look me in the face and tell me you’re fine.”
tears prick harder behind your eyes. you hate crying when you’re angry. you hate crying when you’re wrong.
“because i didn’t want to make it a thing.”
“not everything has to be shared.”
garrett goes still. you regret it immediately, you see the words hit him, see his face close off in a way that terrifies you.
your heart drops. “that’s not what i meant.”
“sounds like what you meant.”
“i meant i’m allowed to deal with things privately.”
“then why are you angry?”
“because this isn’t fucking private, y/n.” his voice finally rises, not loud enough to be yelling, but enough that the hurt cuts through. “this is you shutting me out.”
you shake your head. “i’m not.”
“i’m overwhelmed, garrett.”
“because you won’t let me.”
that silences you. he steps closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you have to look at him.
“you think i don’t notice?” he asks. “you think i don’t see you barely eating? you think i don’t know when you’re lying about sleeping? you think i don’t notice that you’re sitting right next to me and still somehow not here, not present?”
your breath catches, garrett’s face twists. “i notice everything.”
that is the problem, that is exactly the problem.
you press your lips together, but the tears spill anyway. garrett sees them and softens for half a second, instinctively. at the end of the day, he is garrett. even angry, even hurt, some part of him still wants to move towards you.
“i wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you whisper. his expression crumples slightly. “i know.”
you breathe out shakily. “then why are you acting like i did this on purpose?”
“i’m acting like it hurt me.”
your chest tightens, garrett swallows, “because it did, y/n. you're killing me here.”
the room goes quiet. you stare at him, he looks away first. not because he doesn’t mean it, he does, but because saying it cost him something.
your voice comes out small. “i didn’t want you to worry.”
he laughs under his breath, but there’s no humour in it. “too late.”
garrett drags a hand over his face, jaw tight, trying to rein himself in before he says the next part. when he speaks again, his voice is lower. rougher.
“do you know what got me?”
the words land hard. you freeze. garrett shakes his head slightly, like he still can’t quite believe it.
“dean fucking knew.” his voice cracks with frustration now, emotion finally slipping through. “and from the look on everyone else’s faces, they did too.”
his eyes lock onto yours. “i was the only one in that room left in the dark.”
your breath catches, “garrett…”
“and i keep asking myself why.” his voice softens then, somehow worse than when he was angry, hurt, raw.
“because i know you trust dean. i know you tell him things.” he swallows hard. “and of course i’m okay with that, more than okay."
he takes a step closer, but there’s tension in every line of him.
“i love that you have people. i love that you have dean, allie, sabrina, grace and everyone else.” his eyes search yours desperately now. “i don’t need to know every single thought in your head, y/n. i don’t.”
his chest rises sharply. “something this important. something that’s clearly been eating away at you, something that’s been hurting you." he stops, jaw clenching.
“why didn't you let me in?”
garrett’s voice breaks just slightly. “it makes me feel like you don’t trust me.”
a single tear slips from your eye as you shake your head, trying to defend yourself. “you have so much going on i-"
“decide for me what i can handle.”
your mouth shuts. garrett steps back, running both hands through his hair. “i can't keep watching you fall apart and standing here feeling completely useless because you won’t let me in.”
your tears are falling properly now. you wipe at them quickly, frustrated with yourself. “i can’t afford to fall apart right now, and if i say everything, all of my problems out loud to you, then it becomes even more real.”
the honesty comes out before you can stop it. broken, raw, too much.
garrett freezes. you cover your mouth with one hand, shaking your head like you can take it back, but you can’t. it’s out now, the room feels heavier around it, garrett’s voice is gentler when he says your name, that almost breaks you completely.
“don’t call me that right now.” he stops. you see that hurt him too. you hate yourself for it immediately.
everything in you feels too exposed. too tender, too raw.
garrett’s face changes. panic, brief and buried.
until pride covers it, hurt covers it. “if that’s what you want.”
it isn’t, that’s the awful part. it is the last thing you want. you want him to cross the room, you want him to pull you in, you want him to forgive you without you having to explain all the ugly parts.
you are too defensive to ask, too scared to stay, too tired to keep standing there with the person you love looking at you like you’ve made him feel alone.
garrett’s jaw tightens. “okay.”
you wait for him to stop you, he doesn’t, you leave. by the time you make it downstairs, allie is standing near the bottom of the steps.
one look at your face and hers falls. “oh, y/n.”
you shake your head quickly. “please don’t.” her mouth closes. behind her, dean is standing in the kitchen, pale with guilt. logan and grace are in the hallway, unusually quiet. tucker and sabrina are frozen near the couch.
you hate that they all know. you hate that they all saw enough to understand. you grab your bag from beside the couch.
allie follows you to the door. “i’m coming with you.”
“i know.” she grabs her keys anyway, you don’t argue. if you try, you’ll cry harder.
you are already barely holding yourself together.
garrett doesn’t come after you. he hears the front door close, he hears allie’s car start outside, he hears dean swear quietly downstairs.
he sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. he feels sick, not because he thinks he was wrong to be hurt. he was hurt, he is hurt.
he can still see your face when you said it, because if i say it out loud then it becomes more real. the words keep replaying in his head until they start to hurt.
he reaches for his phone, opens your messages, staring at the last text from you.
you: do you want me to bring coffee when i come over?
garrett: only if you’re part of the delivery
you: gross
garrett: romantic
you: very debatable
that was two days ago. it feels like longer. he types, i’m sorry, deletes it, types again. are you home safe? deletes that too.
he doesn’t know what he’s apologising for yet, he is sorry, but he is also still hurt.
part of him wants to get in his car and go to you immediately, another part of him remembers how you looked at him and said not everything has to be shared. like loving you was something he had to stand outside of until he was invited in.
a knock sounds at his door. garrett doesn’t answer, the door opens anyway.
dean steps in. garrett looks up.
dean holds both hands up. “i’m not here to lecture.”
dean shuts the door behind him, then stands there awkwardly. garrett stares at him. “what?”
dean grimaces. “i’m sorry.”
garrett looks away. “you didn’t know.”
“yeah, but still.” dean rubs the back of his neck. “i shouldn’t have said anything.”
dean is quiet for a moment. then, carefully, “she’s been pretty bad, g.”
garrett’s chest tightens, he looks back at him. dean seems to regret saying it, but continues anyway. “not bad bad. just… not herself. allie’s really worried.”
garrett laughs once, bitterly. “everyone’s worried.”
garrett looks down at his hands. “everyone knew.”
“i don’t think she meant for it to be like that.”
“doesn’t make it feel any better.”
“i know.” dean leans back against the door. for once, he doesn’t make a joke.
“she does that sometimes.”
garrett’s eyes lift. dean shrugs, uncomfortable with his own sincerity. “acts like if she can keep everyone else from worrying, then nothing’s actually wrong.”
garrett’s throat tightens. “i know.”
“yeah,” dean says softly. “i figured you did.”
silence settles between them for a moment before dean breaks it. “for what it’s worth, i don’t think she was keeping it from you because she doesn’t trust you.”
garrett looks away again, that’s the part that hurts. because logically, he knows that, emotionally, it doesn’t matter.
dean exhales. “because you matter more.”
garrett’s face tightens. dean looks almost apologetic. “i know that sounds backwards.”
“but i think it’s harder with you because she knows you’ll actually see it.”
that lands, quietly. he thinks of your forced smiles, your cold coffee, the way you had kept turning your face away from him lately, like eye contact was dangerous.
dean opens the door. “i’ll leave you alone.”
garrett nods once, before dean steps out, he pauses. “also, if you make her cry again, i’ll be very annoying about it.”
garrett huffs a humourless breath. “she made me cry internally first.”
“yeah, well. do that externally next time. might help.”
dean leaves. garrett sits there alone, phone still in his hand, he doesn’t text.
the next morning is worse. mornings are yours. saturday mornings especially.
usually, you come to the hockey house with allie. usually, garrett has coffee waiting or pulls you into him before you’ve even taken your shoes off. usually, dean makes some comment about how disgusting the two of you are, and you flip him off without looking.
today, you don’t come. allie does, alone.
garrett is in the kitchen when the front door opens. he knows it’s not you before he sees her. no soft footsteps beside allie’s louder ones, no familiar voice, no automatic call of, “where’s my coffee?"
he keeps his eyes on the mug in front of him. logan, sitting at the counter, notices. allie steps into the kitchen, face guarded. garrett looks at her, she looks back.
for a moment, neither of them say anything, then garrett breaks, asking the question he's been dying to know the answer to.
allie’s expression softens, however not enough to make him feel better.
his hand tightens around the mug. “did she sleep?”
allie hesitates, which is an answer in itself. garrett nods once, “right.”
allie steps closer. “she’s not trying to hurt you.”
“i know,” he says again, quieter this time. allie stops, studying him for a second before saying, “you’re allowed to be hurt too.”
garrett looks down at his mug of coffee. allie's words almost make it worse, everyone keeps giving him permission to feel something, and all he wants is for none of this to have happened.
logan waits until allie leaves the kitchen before speaking. “you want advice?”
“cool. i’m giving it anyway.”
garrett sighs. logan leans back in his chair.
“you’re both doing that thing where you’re waiting for the other person to make it easier.”
garrett gives him a flat look. logan shrugs. “i’m just saying, y/n is stubborn when she’s scared, you’re stubborn when you’re hurt. horrible combination.”
garrett looks away. logan’s voice softens. “she looked awful last night.”
garrett closes his eyes briefly. “i know.”
“you looked pretty awful too.”
garrett exhales slowly. “i don’t know what to say to her.”
logan is quiet for a second, "then maybe you should start there."
you spend the day in bed. not sleeping, not studying, not really doing anything.
your laptop sits open beside you, the screen now dark. your phone is face down on the blanket. every few minutes you reach for it, check for a message, then put it down again like you weren’t hoping.
garrett doesn’t text. you tell yourself that’s fair, that he simply needs space and that you were awful to him. then you tell yourself he was unfair, that you were both hurt, and then you cry again.
allie brings you lunch. you take a few bites because she stands there until you do. sabrina texts you a photo of tucker looking sad.
he says the hockey house has been off ever since you stopped coming around. apparently your absence is affecting morale (and his appetite).
you almost smile, almost.
i’m so sorry, y/n. genuinely
i didn't know garrett didn't know
also please be okay, garrett is being weirdly silent and it's freaking everyone out
you stare at the messages for a long time before replying.
not your fault. i'm okay.
dean replies immediately.
you don’t answer. by evening, your room feels too small. too hot, too quiet.
your chest has been tight all day, a constant pressure beneath your ribs, and the more you try to ignore it, the worse it gets.
you open your laptop, look at your applications, your unfinished cover letter, the rejection email sitting in your inbox, the lecture notes you haven’t caught up on, the email from home you still haven’t responded to.
everything blurs, suddenly, you can’t breathe properly. it isn’t dramatic at first, just one shaky inhale that doesn’t quite work.
then another, then your hands start trembling.
you stand too fast, knocking your water bottle off the bed. it hits the floor and rolls beneath your desk. the sound makes you flinch, your vision blurs. you press a hand to your chest. “no,” you whisper to yourself. “no, no, no.”
you try to breathe in, it catches.
you sit back down on the edge of your bed, then stand again immediately because sitting feels worse. your whole body feels wrong, too hot and too cold all at once.
your phone is on the bed, you stare at it. allie is out with dean getting food. you could call her, you should call her. instead, without letting yourself think, you call garrett. he answers on the second ring.
his voice alone almost makes you break. you try to speak, nothing comes out. there’s a rustle on his end. he sits up, instantly alert.
you squeeze your eyes shut. the nickname ruins you. a tiny, broken sound leaves your mouth.
garrett’s voice changes completely. “where are you?”
you inhale shakily. “dorm.”
you don’t answer fast enough. “okay,” he says, and you can hear movement now. keys, a door, footsteps. “i’m coming.”
you start crying harder. “i’m sorry.”
“don’t.” his voice is firm, but not harsh. “don’t apologise. just stay on the phone with me.”
“i can’t-” you choke. “i can’t calm down.”
“it is. listen to me. put your feet on the floor.”
you do. bare feet against the cold ground. “okay,” you whisper.
“good. now tell me five things you can see.”
you cry through them. “my laptop. your hoodie. my lamp. allie’s stupid pink cup. the- the photo on my wall.”
garrett’s breathing is steady through the phone. “good girl. four things you can feel.”
your hand twists in the blanket. “blanket. floor. phone. my shirt.”
“three things you can hear.” you swallow.
“you. my fan. someone outside.”
“good. keep listening to me.”
that makes you cry harder, because he isn’t, not yet. he is still somehow the only thing holding you to the room.
“i didn’t know who else to call,” you admit.
there’s a pause, not long, but you hear it. then garrett says, very quietly, “i’m glad you called me.”
you press the phone harder to your ear. “i’m sorry.”
“we’ll talk about it later.”
“right now, just breathe.”
by the time he gets there, you’re sitting on the floor beside your bed, knees drawn to your chest, phone still clutched in your hand even though the call is connected and he’s already outside your door.
he knocks once. “it’s me.”
you can’t get up. “come in.”
the door opens. garrett steps inside. the second he sees you, everything on his face breaks.
all the hurt. all the anger. all the careful distance. gone.
he closes the door behind him and crosses the room without hesitation, crouching in front of you.
you look at him through tears. his eyes move over your face, your shaking hands, the laptop open on your bed, the mess of papers across the floor. “can i touch you?”
you nod immediately. he reaches for you, and you fold into him so fast it almost knocks him off balance.
garrett catches you. of course he does.
one arm wraps around your back, the other hand cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder and sob. not pretty crying. not quiet tears. the kind that takes over your whole body. weeks of holding it in finally ripping through you all at once.
garrett says nothing for a while, just holds you. solid, warm, there. his hand moves slowly over your hair, again and again. “i’ve got you,” he murmurs. “you’re okay.” you clutch his shirt tighter.
his arm tightens around you. “okay,” he whispers. “then you’re not. that’s okay too.”
that makes you cry harder, because nobody says that.
everyone says you’ll be okay.
eventually, when your breathing starts to slow, he shifts carefully until his back is against the side of your bed and you’re tucked against his chest on the floor between his legs, his arms around you.
his chin rests lightly against the top of your head. neither of you speaks for a long time.
your room is dim now, lit only by your desk lamp. outside, voices pass faintly in the hallway. somewhere down the corridor, someone laughs. it feels strange that the world is still normal. you wipe your face with the sleeve of your jumper.
garrett reaches towards your bedside table, grabs the tissues, and passes them to you without a word.
you take one. then another. then you whisper, “i’m sorry.”
his chest rises behind you. “i know.”
your fingers twist in the tissue. “i should’ve told you.”
garrett is quiet for a second. then, “yeah.”
you close your eyes. “i just didn’t know how.”
his hand moves slowly up and down your arm. “you could’ve started with that.”
your mouth trembles. “i know.”
“i wouldn’t have thought less of you.”
your throat closes. you turn slightly, looking up at him. his face is softer now, but still tired, still hurt. that might be the worst part. the fact that being loved by you has hurt him.
“i didn’t think you would,” you whisper.
garrett’s brows pull together. “then why?”
you look down. for once, you try not to run from the answer. it takes a while, garrett lets it.
“because you see me too clearly,” you say eventually. his hand stills. you keep staring at the tissue in your lap.
“and sometimes that feels really safe. and sometimes it feels terrifying.”
garrett says nothing. so you keep going, voice shaking.
“if i told you how bad everything felt, you’d know. and then i couldn’t pretend anymore. and i needed to pretend because i didn’t know what else to do.”
your eyes fill again. “i’m trying so hard, garrett.”
his face changes. you can’t stop now.
“i’m trying so hard and i feel like i’m failing at everything. i feel like i’m behind in classes, and i don’t know if i’m good enough for any of these internships, and every time i open my email i feel sick, and then there’s stuff at home and i don’t want to talk about it because everyone has their own problems, and i just-”
your voice breaks. garrett shifts, turning you more fully toward him.
you shake your head. “i’m so tired.”
his eyes shine. “come here.”
you fold into him again. he holds you so tightly it almost hurts. in a good way, in a necessary way, like he’s trying to keep all your pieces together through sheer force.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper into his shirt.
his lips press against your hair. "i’m sorry too.”
you pull back just enough to look at him. “you don’t have to be.”
“yeah,” he says quietly. “i do.”
you shake your head. “i hurt you.”
your chest aches. “i was awful.”
“that doesn’t make it okay.”
“no,” he agrees softly. “but it helps me understand.”
you stare at him. he brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb, his voice lowering. “i wasn’t angry because you were struggling.”
your breath catches, garrett’s throat works. “i was angry because you were struggling alone.” your face crumples, he leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
“and because i love you,” he whispers. “and i didn’t know what to do with that when you wouldn’t let me near you.”
you close your eyes. “i’m sorry.”
his hand slides to the side of your neck, thumb brushing softly beneath your jaw. “i love you too.” for a moment, neither of you move.
you eventually whisper. “are you still mad?”
garrett exhales slowly. “i’m still hurt.”
you nod, fresh tears spilling. “okay.”
“but i’m not going anywhere.”
that breaks you again, quieter this time. you lean into him, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“we have to talk about it properly,” he murmurs.
“tonight you’re going to eat something.” a weak laugh slips out of you. garrett pulls back slightly, looking down at you.
his mouth twitches, barely. “you missed me.”
you breathe out a tiny laugh, watery and exhausted. “so much.”
his expression softens completely. “yeah?”
you nod. “i kept checking my phone.”
his hand cups your cheek. “me too.”
he looks down for a second. “because i didn’t know how to say i was hurt without making you feel worse.”
your chest tightens. “you can tell me when i hurt you.”
his eyes lift back to yours. “same rule for you.”
the word settles between you. small, not a fix, not completely, but a start. garrett leans in slowly, giving you time to move away, you don’t. his mouth touches yours softly, carefully, not desperate, not heated, just gentle. forgiving.
you make a small sound against him, and his hand slides into your hair, holding you there like he has missed you more than he knows how to say. when he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours again.
“no more pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
you let out a shaky breath. “i’ll try.”
you nod. “and no more finding out important things from dean.”
“because, honestly, devastating source.” that makes you laugh properly, small, but real. garrett smiles a little.
allie comes home twenty minutes later with dean behind her, both of them carrying food. she stops in the doorway when she sees garrett sitting on your bed, you tucked against his side under a blanket, eyes swollen but calmer.
dean almost walks into her back. “why did we stop?”
allie elbows him. then she looks at you. “all okay?”
garrett’s arm tightens around your shoulders. dean peers around allie, “am i allowed to speak or is this a hostile environment?”
garrett gives him a look. “depends.”
dean nods seriously. “understood.” then he lifts the bag in his hand. “i brought fries as a peace offering.”
you sniffle. “for me or garrett?”
allie rolls her eyes and steps inside. sabrina and grace appear in the doorway fifteen minutes later with tucker and logan, because apparently nobody in this group knows how to give anyone privacy for longer than thirty seconds.
“we heard there were fries,” tucker says. logan looks between you and garrett, assessing quietly, then his face softens.
garrett looks down at you, you look up at him. his thumb brushes once over your shoulder. you nod, “getting there.”
logan nods back. “good enough.”
sabrina climbs onto the bed on your other side without asking, wrapping an arm around your waist.
you lean into her. “sorry.”
allie sits at the foot of the bed and starts unpacking food. dean leans against your desk, still guilty but trying to hide it. tucker steals a fry and immediately gets slapped by sabrina. logan takes the chair and pretends not to watch everyone with fond amusement.
garrett stays beside you through all of it. steady, quiet.
his hand never leaves you, not in a possessive way, not in a way that demands, just there, a reminder. you don’t have to hold yourself up alone.
later, when everyone has finally left and your room is quiet again, garrett helps you clear the food containers from your bed.
he plugs your phone in, closes your laptop, picks your water bottle up from under the desk and places it on your bedside table.
small things, garrett things. you watch him move around your room with tired eyes. “are you staying?” you ask softly.
he turns, his expression gentle. “do you want me to?”
you nod, "please.” he crosses back to you immediately.
you shift under the covers as he climbs in beside you, and for the first time in weeks, your body relaxes before you can think yourself out of it. garrett pulls you into his chest, you press your face against his shirt, his hand slides beneath the back of your hoodie, palm warm against your spine.
“i don’t want you to feel shut out.”
his hand stills for half a second, then continues moving slowly. “i don’t want you to feel like you have to be okay all the time.”
you close your eyes. “i don’t know how to stop.”
his lips press to your forehead. “then i remind you.”
you swallow. “what if you get tired of reminding me?”
garrett pulls back just enough to look at you. his face is serious, tender, a little wounded that you would even ask, but patient with it anyway.
"i’m not going to get tired of loving you, y/n."
your eyes burn again.“garrett.”
“i mean it.” you look at him for a long moment, then nod, because you believe him.
he kisses you once, soft and lingering, then tucks your head back beneath his chin. outside your room, the dorm is still noisy. voices in the hall, doors opening and closing, the faint sound of laughter somewhere far away. inside, everything is quiet. not perfect, not fixed, but honest. for tonight, that is enough.
garrett’s thumb moves slowly along your back. you let yourself breathe. this time, when he murmurs, “you okay?”
you don’t say fine, you don’t pretend, you press closer and whisper, “not really.”
garrett holds you tighter. “okay,” he says softly. “i’m here.”
and for the first time in weeks, you let that be enough.
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