I lay wrapped up in blankets up to my neck, feeling my breathing collecting in my throat and expelling itself out in my lungs. My breath catches in my chest but I push past it, sucking oxygen in and forcing it out of my body.

The TV flickers several feet ahead of me, endless channels of incoherent nonsense. My dog Blue, with his grey fur running past my fingers, sleeps soundly beside me. His tiny warm body jerks slightly as he dreams, and his fuzzy head rests on my knee.

I reach down to stretch his ears softly as he rises out of his dream, stretching out his paws and yawning contently. "Good morning," I whisper even though I know he can not respond. He buries himself deeper into the fluffy blankets.

My mind is numb, like a heavy blanket was somehow smothering it into a quiet, blank feeling. I can feel the familiar tugging of sleep at my brain until I hear the trademark noise of a text message.

I blindly reach for my phone and raise it up to my sleepy eyes, wincing at the brightness of my screen. It's Clay, and I feel another painful twist in the bottom of my stomach when I see his contact.

My heart aches to tell him everything, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, I can't.

❤️

❤️

I press a singular letter and tense my fingers to text out another message, but the situation overwhelms me and I find myself unable to.

Though I never asked him to, nor do I necessarily want him to, I find myself incredibly at ease that he would be coming over soon.

I stand up to hurriedly change into a better pair of sweatpants before shrinking further into my warm blankets. Grabbing the remote off the table beside me, I pull Blue into my lap and sigh loudly.

I switch over to Amazon Prime to find my favorite movie of all time, obviously Harry Potter, and feel instantly comforted as it starts up. The familiar orchestral music of the opening scene touches my heart and my brain is relaxed.

The nostalgia washes over me and I feel myself unfold; all the tension, built up tears, and anger in my stomach unknotting and allowing a heavy, warm presence of relaxation in my chest.

The scene is about to change when the door to my house is forcefully thrown open. Fear overwhelms me and I involuntarily shriek. Blue immediately dissolves into angry, frenzied barking as I almost fall off the couch in shock.

When I look up to the door, I see Clay standing there, staring down at me with pure panic in his blue eyes. He clutches his phone in his hands, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. His hair is wet, but the rest of him dry as he takes a tentative, slightly awkward step into my house. I think for a moment that he might have clamored out of the shower, hair wet and a t-shirt thrown haphazardly over him, as if he had taken only seconds to properly change. He probably had, and a twinge of guilt presents itself in my chest at the alarm in his eyes.

All the happy, relaxed feelings I had are washed out as my eyes wrench away from the T.V. screen. I had fallen onto the remote and in turn accidentally switched the channel, now hearing nothing but the ringing sensation of T.V. static.

"Ellie," he breathes and takes another step, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing," I retort with a huff of breath, frustrated and annoyed with how he had scared me.

Clay frowns. "Something's up."

I adjust the blankets on my lap and refuse to make eye contact with him. "I'm fine."

In my best attempt to convince him that I was fine, I reach down for the T.V. remote and turn it back on. It clearly doesn't convince him. It's times like these where I know that Clay just knows me too well.

The awkwardness seems to have left him as he moves to sit down beside me on the couch. He touches my hand as it falls back down to my shaking side.

"Ellie, please talk to me. What's wrong?" he whispers and my heart breaks.

Then, I find I cannot stop myself, and it's out before I have to chance to think about staying quiet.

"It's Hannah's birthday," I choke out despite myself.

And, finally, our eyes meet. Swirling chocolate into pale diamonds, brown into blue, sadness into worry.

"I know," his voice is so quiet that I barely hear him.

"Do you thi—" I hold back a sob as my voice breaks before trying again, "do you think she would hate me now?"

I keep my eyes trained into Clay's and watch as a tiny piece of his heart breaks for me. "No," he states after a pause with an air of finality. "She would never hate you, Ellie."

"But —"

"No," he cuts me off before I can even begin, "don't you think that for a second. You did nothing wrong. You need to know that, Ellie. Nothing. This was her decision, and in no way should you be blaming yourself for anything." Tears instantly rise to his gaze, the same exact shade as the pale blue color I have always loved.

"But she loved you, and I'm the slut who —"

"Isabelle. You can't blame yourself for her actions. If you're to blame, then so am I."

"You're not —"

"Well, if you think it's your fault for liking me, then aren't I just as guilty?" he asks in a eerily quiet voice.

I'm struck silent, knowing deep in my chest he was right; it wasn't my fault.

"I know today is a hard day for you," Clay murmurs as he looks away, "but I need you to know two things, okay?"

I nod. "Okay." The word is short, but holds a greater meaning behind it as he wraps an arm around me and I relax into him.

"Repeat after me, it is not my fault," Clay says quite loudly, and I flinch in spite of myself.

"It's not my fault," I mutter quietly and slightly half-heartedly, not quite believing and staring at my lap.

"Louder. It is NOT my fault." Clay bounces in his seat, fists clenched and a smile forming on his lips.

"It's not my fault," my voice is barely above a croaky whisper.

Clay smiles at me. "I need you to feel it, Ellie. Make yourself believe it. Tell me it's not your fault!"

"It's not my fault!" My volume drowns out the noises of the movie, and I hear Clay laugh next to me.

"Louder!" he yells, his grin stretched wide across his pale face.

"IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" The walls around me vibrate as I scream into my dark room. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" For some reason, I yell it again, my usually soft voice booming as I let it all out. Tears cascade down my freckled cheeks, but not from sadness.

And, as if by magic, all the built-up anguish, fear, and sadness leaves my body along with my yell.

Then a great feeling overpowers me. Hundreds of pounds of guilt, lodged into my chest like a bullet, is pulled out of my heart. It feels like I can finally breathe again, as if the weight that was ever present on my lungs was lifted off of me. Each heaving gasp of air feels new, like a newborn child. I feel infinite.

"It's not my fault," I whisper quietly to myself, my voice hardening with resolve.

Clay nods encouragingly, moving to wrap his arm around my shoulders. "It never was," he whispers.

I instantly melt into him, my head crashing into his chest and fitting into his embrace like the perfect puzzle piece.

There is only Clay and I, the sole things left in the universe, his eyes shining like two worlds that existed only for me, visible to only my eyes, and his blue color that always drew so much attention. It's his close body, his hair, his smile. It's his radiant expression, happiness spread across his face in a way so much softer than Max's, where I can look at him without thinking of the people who died around me, of Hannah and Jeff. In fact, my mind is full of the opposite, swimming in life and possibilities, what I can do versus what I would do, and what I most definitely should not do.

I'm so focused on his eyes that I don't even notice how much closer he is now. Our bodies radiate the same heat, our lips hold identical smiles. My fingers brush the hem of his shirt: worn cotton, old and blue. I must have seen him thousands of times in this shirt, never saw like this. It compliments him well, playing against the immersive world of his eyes. He should wear it more often.

He is looking down on me — really looking, and all the nervousness he's so prone to feeling washes out of him like a tidal wave, flooding from the tips of his fingers and crashing out of his mouth as it parts in the slightest way, almost invisible. But he knows it is, for my eyes flutter down to it.

I finally notice how close he truly is when his lips enclose on mine; soft yet immersive, gentle yet powerful all the same. All there is in the world is the two of us, or the one of us, rather, and all I can feel is him: Soap and leather in my nose, black hair and blue eyes in my mind. And all he can feel is me: Vanilla and lavender in his senses, red and brown in his sight.

After a moment, I whisper, "It's not your fault either, Clay. You did everything you could."

Clay stares at me, his diamond eyes boring into me and trailing over every part of face. I watch as they travel over every individual freckle, smile as they memorize each aspect of my features, and I melt as they soften. The blue eyes I had fallen for, the diamond gaze that found me.

Though Clay is right beside me, I feel Hannah on my shoulder, smiling slightly to herself.

I open my heavy eyelids to see her glittering eyes, full of laughter and somehow full of life, even when she no longer possess it. She's beautiful, and I find myself enraptured by her faint outline, slightly faded like a ghost. Everything about her is a fog, only a whisper of what once was. I know deep down that she's a figment of my imagination, but for a moment, I find myself wishing it was real. Hannah smiles, and my heart seems to stop in my chest.

Clay turns his head to the corner of the room, and for a brief second, it's as if he can see her too.

She wouldn't hate me, I think quietly. She wants to see Clay happy. Hannah would want me to find him. She would be happy that he found love.

The movie quietly plays, and I smile softly to myself as the tears finally stop. As Clay holds me, as I feel his quiet tears against my cheek, I hear the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood in the background.

"The things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. It is not my fault. I was broken, and now I am loved. I was lost, and then restored.

The image of Hannah Baker, with a flowing white dress and a heavenly gaze, giggles in my head. I remember her curls cascading over her shoulder and her eyes bright with life, even after she's lost hers. In that moment, seeing Hannah smile in my head for the very last time, a singular tear slips down my face.

I am found.