The quiet stretches long enough to become its own presence.
Laura feels it sitting between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… waiting.
Her fingers tighten slightly against the edge of the bench.
Release.
Tighten again.
She is aware of Axel's breathing.
Steady.
Unforced.
He has not checked the time.
He has not suggested going home.
He has not asked again.
He is simply here.
The steadiness of that presses against something inside her.
"I don't feel like myself."
The words leave her before she edits them.
Not planned.
Not structured.
Just spoken.
They sound smaller out loud.
Less catastrophic.
But inside her chest, something shifts sharply.
Because "herself" is not casual.
Herself is constructed.
Refined.
Maintained.
If she does not feel like herself—
then what is she?
Axel does not respond immediately.
He doesn't flinch.
Doesn't lean in.
Doesn't reach.
He lets the sentence exist.
That makes it harder to retract.
Laura stares at the gravel beneath her shoes.
The words echo quietly in her mind.
Not myself.
That implies a deviation from baseline.
Baseline is composure.
Baseline is precision.
Baseline is holding everything together.
She has never miscalculated baseline before.
"I know how I'm supposed to feel," she adds after a moment.
Her voice remains level.
"I don't feel that."
It is the closest she can come to elaborating.
Axel nods once.
"Okay."
Not dismissive.
Not confused.
Just acknowledgment.
She waits for him to ask for more.
He does not.
He shifts slightly so their shoulders nearly touch.
Not quite.
But enough that she feels warmth along her sleeve.
He is not trying to fix the sentence.
He is not trying to solve her.
He is allowing the space around the admission to remain intact.
That feels foreign.
Laura inhales slowly.
"This doesn't make sense."
That bothers her most.
If something is wrong, it should have a cause.
A variable.
A trigger.
A measurable input.
Zane is back.
Sunny is stable.
The trio is intact.
Nothing collapsed.
So why does she feel displaced?
Axel speaks carefully.
"You don't have to make sense right now."
The statement lands somewhere deep.
It should irritate her.
Ambiguity has never been acceptable.
But the tone matters.
He is not excusing her.
He is permitting her.
That distinction unsettles her.
Laura presses her thumb against her pulse again.
Still steady.
Reliable.
Her body is not malfunctioning.
Her mind is not panicking.
She is not breaking down.
And yet—
She does not feel like herself.
For someone who has built identity through discipline,
that is catastrophic.
Because if the structure shifts—
what remains?
She swallows.
"I don't know who that is if it's not this."
The words are quieter now.
Barely above the hum of the streetlamp.
Axel turns his head slightly toward her.
"I know you."
She doesn't look at him.
Because if she does, she might believe him.
And believing someone else defines her—
feels even more destabilizing.
Silence returns.
But it is different.
The quiet now holds something fragile.
Not panic.
Not despair.
Just a crack wide enough to let uncertainty breathe.
Laura's shoulders lower by a fraction.
Not fully relaxed.
Just less braced.
She has said it.
Out loud.
She does not feel like herself.
And Axel did not leave.
For the first time—
The possibility forms quietly:
Maybe "herself" was never as fixed as she thought.