The house in his memory always smelled the same.
Cheap alcohol. Burnt food. Fear.
Zane didn't realize he was dreaming at first.
It felt too real.
Too familiar.
Too lived in.
The walls were the same dull beige, stained in places where something had been thrown too hard, too often. The clock ticked loudly in the background, every second dragging like it had weight. And somewhere, faint but growing—
Voices.
His chest tightened.
No.
Not again.
He was small again. Smaller. The world felt bigger, heavier, harder to breathe in. His hands looked wrong—too tiny, trembling as they clutched the edge of his bed.
Then—
CRASH.
Zane flinched violently.
The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He knew that sound.
He remembered that sound.
Without thinking, he rushed to his door and locked it, fingers fumbling, shaking so hard he almost missed the latch.
Silence followed.
The worst kind.
The kind that made everything louder.
His breathing.
His heartbeat.
The creak of the floorboards downstairs.
He swallowed hard, stepping back slowly, eyes glued to the door like it might burst open at any second.
But nothing came.
Nothing moved.
And that was worse.
"…Mom…?" his voice came out small. Fragile.
No answer.
His throat tightened.
Carefully—too carefully—he turned the handle and opened the door just a crack.
The hallway stretched before him, dark and quiet.
Too quiet.
Zane stepped out, bare feet silent against the cold floor, every step cautious like the house itself might betray him.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Broken. Pleading.
His mother.
Zane froze.
No…
He moved again, faster this time, creeping down the stairs until he reached the last step. He crouched low, peeking into the living room—
And everything inside him shattered.
His mother was on the floor.
Her hair was tangled, her face wet with tears, hands raised weakly as if they could stop what was coming.
But they couldn't.
They never could.
His father stood over her.
Drunk.
Raging.
Eyes bloodshot and wild, movements unsteady but brutal.
"Useless woman!" he slurred, his voice thick with venom. "Can't even do one damn thing right—!"
He kicked her.
Hard.
Zane's breath hitched violently.
His mother cried out softly, her body folding under the impact.
"Please…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I was just—there was a line, I—"
"Excuses!"
Another kick.
Zane's fingers dug into the wall.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
His father grabbed her by the hair.
Zane felt something snap inside him.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Something else.
Something darker.
Something that made his chest burn.
He watched as his father dragged her toward the kitchen.
Her nails scraped against the floor.
She didn't fight back.
She never did.
"Please…" she begged again, weaker now. "I'll cook—I'll—"
BANG.
Her head slammed against the counter.
Zane flinched so hard he nearly cried out.
His vision blurred.
His ears rang.
"You think I work all day for this?" his father shouted, gripping her hair tighter, forcing her head back up just to slam it down again. "Huh? You think I come home for nothing?"
Another hit.
Another cry.
Something inside Zane broke completely.
He didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
He ran.
"STOP!"
His voice cracked as he lunged forward, small fists colliding uselessly against his father's back.
"Leave her alone! Leave her alone!"
His punches were weak.
Desperate.
Meaningless.
But they were everything he had.
His mother's eyes widened in horror.
"Zane, no—!"
Too late.
His father turned.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
There was a moment.
A split second where everything froze.
Then—
SMACK.
Zane's head snapped to the side as the slap landed.
The world tilted.
Spun.
Pain exploded across his cheek.
"How dare you—" his father hissed, grabbing him by the collar. "You little bitch—"
Zane gasped, struggling, his small hands clawing at his father's grip.
"Useless," his father spat. "Just like her."
Then—
A chair.
Thrown.
Fast.
Hard.
Zane didn't even see it coming.
But his mother did.
She moved.
Threw herself between them.
The chair hit her instead.
The sound was sickening.
Zane screamed.
"Mom!"
She collapsed, groaning in pain.
And something shifted.
Even his father paused.
Just for a second.
Then he cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair before storming out of the house, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shook.
Silence fell again.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
His mother turned to him, her face pale, eyes glassy.
"Go upstairs," she whispered urgently. "Lock the door. Don't come out. No matter what, Zane. Do you hear me?"
He nodded, tears streaming down his face.
He ran.
Back to his room.
Locked the door.
Curled up under the bed, shaking so hard his teeth clattered.
Minutes passed.
Or hours.
Time didn't exist anymore.
Then—
The door downstairs opened again.
His father was back.
Worse.
Drunker.
Louder.
Zane's breath caught.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Unsteady.
His mother's voice again, softer this time.
"Please… just eat…"
A plate clattered.
Food hit the floor.
"You think I want this garbage?" his father roared.
Then—
Footsteps.
On the stairs.
Zane's entire body locked.
No.
No no no—
BANG.
The door shook under the impact.
"Open the door!" his father shouted.
Zane pressed his hand over his mouth.
Silent.
Invisible.
Gone.
"OPEN IT!"
Another bang.
Louder.
The wood cracked.
His mother's voice rose again, frantic now. "Zane, don't! Don't open it!"
Another crash.
The door splintered.
Zane's vision blurred.
His chest felt too tight.
Too small.
He couldn't breathe—
The door broke open.
His father stepped inside.
Belt in hand.
Eyes wild.
Zane scrambled backward, grabbing the first thing he could find—
A hammer.
His hands shook violently around it.
"Please…" he whispered.
But his father only stepped closer.
"Thought you could hide from me?"
Zane's vision tunneled.
Everything went quiet.
Too quiet.
His father raised his arm—
And Zane swung.
He didn't remember deciding to.
Didn't remember aiming.
Only—
The impact.
The sound.
The blood.
His father collapsed.
Zane stood there, frozen.
The hammer slipped from his hand.
Clattered to the floor.
His chest heaved.
Blood dripped.
Onto the floor.
Onto his hands.
Onto his face.
"I…"
His stomach twisted violently.
He turned—
And threw up.
Everything.
All of it.
His body shaking uncontrollably—
—
Zane's eyes snapped open.
He sat up violently, gasping for air like he'd been drowning.
Sweat clung to his skin.
His chest burned.
His vision swam.
"Zane—?"
Adrien's voice.
Real.
Present.
Zane blinked rapidly, trying to focus.
But for a second—
Just a second—
He saw him.
Standing behind Adrien.
Blood on his face.
Eyes empty.
Watching.
Zane's breath hitched violently.
His face drained of color.
Adrien turned quickly, following his gaze.
"…There's nothing," he said, frowning, flipping the light on.
The room filled with soft brightness.
Normal.
Safe.
But Zane wasn't.
A tear slipped down his cheek before he even realized it.
Adrien didn't ask anything.
Didn't hesitate.
He moved closer and pulled Zane into a tight embrace.
Zane froze for half a second—
Then broke.
His arms wrapped around Adrien desperately, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He was trembling.
Badly.
"I—" his voice cracked. "I—"
But the words wouldn't come.
Adrien's hand slid up to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there.
"It's okay," Adrien murmured softly. "You're okay."
Zane shook his head against his shoulder.
"No… I—"
But Adrien tightened his hold.
Firm.
Steady.
"Not now," he said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything right now."
Zane's grip tightened.
His breathing slowly began to steady.
Not fully.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to feel real again.
Alive again.
Adrien pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at him.
His expression was softer than Zane had ever seen it.
No irritation.
No distance.
Just concern.
"…I'm staying," Adrien said simply.
Zane blinked.
Adrien didn't give him time to argue.
"I'm not leaving you like this."
Zane swallowed hard.
His throat tight.
"…Okay," he whispered.
Adrien nodded once, then pulled him back into his arms.
And for the first time in a long time—
Zane didn't fight it.
Didn't hide.
Didn't pretend.
He just held on.