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You rush upstairs as fast as you could. The second Connie of all people called you, you knew something was wrong.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, Stevens room is a mess. Steven is a mess.
Bowls of food and empty wrappers, dirty or stained clothes, and several random items are scattered all over the floor. Making it hard to step anywhere without stepping on something. But that’s not important to you right now, what is, is getting to Steven.
A breeze hits your face and you finally notice his patio door is open. His garden. He has to be there.
Rushing out, but not running, you keep your eye out for anything that will show where he is. Once you make it to the garden door, you open it and see Steven sitting on a small stool, curled in on himself. His back is shaking with every other breath.
“Steven!” You gasp.
He quickly snaps up and turns to face you. His eyes are red, tear stains along his cheeks, which are flushed and puffy. This is no normal cry when you need it. He broke.
He stands up, not too fast, as if he might scare you away. You finally realize he’s in his pajamas, his yellow shirt stained with tears as well. The second you realize though that he’s waiting for you to do something, you step forward with your arms stretched out.
Fresh tears brim in his eyes and he rushes to you, hugging you so quickly and tightly you’re almost afraid your spine will be damaged. But you push that thought away and hold him back as hard as you can. It’s a bit awkward as he’s grown a bit taller than you over the years and with how rushed the hug was, it’s just sloppy.
But neither of you care. You especially don’t when he leans his face into your neck and sobs. You can feel tears dampen your shirt but you don’t care at all. You just hold him as tight as you can as he sobs into you.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” He says, voice unsteady and hard to hear due to being muffled.
You move a hand from his back to his hair, lightly massaging his scalp, trying to calm him down.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, you did nothing wrong.” You mumble a few times, hoping the more he hears it, the more he’ll believe it.
Eventually, his legs give out, and you don’t have the strength to keep both of you upright. So he crumbles to the floor and you follow suit. He’s mumbling the entire time he cries, saying “I’m sorry.” or “I’m so sorry.” or “I didn’t mean it!” over and over again. You just rub his back or play with his hair, insisting that he didn’t do anything wrong.
He pulls away after a few minutes, face more red and puffy than before but his crying has calmed down. By now, you have made yourself comfortable in his lap as he sits on the floor. Wrapping your legs around his torso to keep them from being squished.
He chuckles a little once he looks at you, “I’m sorry, I got snot all over your shirt.” He gestures to the shoulder he had just been crying on.
You get a little angry at that, “Steven, that is the least of my worries right now.” you huff, reaching out to wipe a still shining tear streak on his cheek, “I’m worried about you. What do you need right now?” You ask.
He sighs, reaching up and holding your hand with one of his own, fully leaning into it. His cheek is so warm.
“...I don’t know.” He mumbles.
You just nod, “That’s ok.”
He closes his eyes, relaxing into your hand even more. He looks so tired, so defeated, so broken. Your heart lurches a little too harshly. You almost feel like a total idiot for not noticing this sooner, but being so busy with growing up, you haven’t been around Steven in a couple of weeks. And from what Connie told you, that was enough time for him to wear out.
“Hey,” you rub your thumb across his cheek, swiping away some loose tears that got stuck near his nose, “look at me.”
He does, and you hold your other hand to his other cheek, “I’m here for you, always.”
You tilt your head, allowing a little light from outside to shine on his face. His eyes glisten again, shining as his face scrunches up.
He leans back forward, pulling you in another crushing hug that makes you gasp. He doesn’t cry as heavily as before, but his breathing is very shaky. So you just hold him, rocking the two of you back and forth as you rub his back. Hoping that soon he’ll tell you exactly what has him so torn up.
“I love you.” He mumbles.
You’ve always heard platonic ‘I love you’s in your life, always saying them to friends, classmates, and coworkers. But Steven is one of those people you just don’t say it to. You hadn’t noticed it until recently but you think it might be because you realized that only certain people are comfortable with it. Steven never seemed like one of them.
But this is not platonic. You can hear it, you can feel it. Down to the way he holds you just a bit tighter after saying it. Like you might run off. It’s always like you’ll run away.
You stop rocking, holding still and you hear his breathing stop for a second. Take a deep breath in, you tell yourself. And you let it out.
You nuzzle into his neck as well, gripping his shirt in your hands, “Me too, Steven. Me too.” You mumble back.
He lets out a breathy chuckle, light and soft. That’s more like it.