Page 66 of Let Me In

Not visibly.

Not entirely.

But something shifts.

His expression doesn’t change much. His jaw stays tight, his shoulders still squared. But his eyes—God, his eyes—

They soften.

As if no one’s ever asked him that before, and the idea itself is unthinkable.

And still… he lets me hold his hand.

Lets me stay, lets me mean it.

He doesn’t answer right away. Doesn’t look away, either.

Just holds my gaze like the ground might shift if he blinks.

“Can you help?”

I didn’t mean for it to undo him. But it does.

Not in a loud way. Not with tears or breaking.

Just this stillness.

This silence that wraps around the moment and makes it holy.

His thumb brushes once across the back of my hand. Like he’s grounding himself. Like I’m the thing keeping him from tipping over the edge.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” he murmurs finally.

His voice is low. Rough. But not distant.

Present.

“People don’t ask that,” he goes on, almost to himself. “They ask what I did. Why I did it. How I can sleep at night.”

His hand tightens around mine.

“But no one’s ever asked if I… if I needed anything.”

His eyes find mine again.

And what’s in them?

It’s not fear, or guilt, or even shame.

It’s awe.

Like I just cracked open a part of him he thought had long since gone still.

He shakes his head once, barely more than a breath.

“I don’t know how to let someone help.”

I press his hand between both of mine.

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