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The flowers were already wilting by the time he reached her floor. Damn grocery store refrigeration must’ve been broken. He tried not to read into it.
He knocked once , no answer. Knocked again— No answer at all.
He frowned and shifted the little paper bag in his hands , angling to peek through the slit under the door. No shadows , no footsteps. He pulled out his phone and typed out a quick “Hey , I’m outside. You okay?” and waited. Nothing.
Then something came back to him , a conversation , weeks ago. A joke over takeout.
“What if I slip in the shower or something? You wouldn’t even know.”
“Don’t even say that.”
“There’s a spare key under the mat. Just in case.”
At the time , he’d just rolled his eyes and told her to hide it better.
He scoffed and reached under the mat , slowly. His hand closed around cold metal.
He hesitated.. just for a second. Then the key turned in the lock.
The apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it’s holding its breath. The lights were off , save for a faint glow from the bathroom door. It was cracked open.
He set the chocolates down on the table. The flowers stayed in his hand.
“Hello ? is someone there–” he called , careful , cautious.
He padded over to the bathroom and knocked , once.
The door creaked open on its own.
And there she was.
Slouched against the cold tile. Sleeves pushed up. Cutter in hand. Her skin still warm. Her eyes wide. Caught , guilty , frozen.
The flowers dropped.
He didn’t shout. Didn’t ask why. Didn’t kneel down and wrap her in a dramatic embrace. He just stood there , as if the room had shrunk around him , and breathed.
And then , gently:
“Give me that.”
His voice was quiet. Not angry. Just… steady.
She didn’t move.
“Please ,” he added , eyes locked on hers— not the blade.
It took a second , but eventually , her fingers loosened. The cutter scraped against tile as it slid away.
He moved closer then. Crouched down , slowly , like she was a startled animal. He didn’t touch her , not yet. Just checked her arms with a practiced eye.
“I’m not a psychiatrist ,” he said , matter-of-fact. “I’m not going to pretend I know the right thing to say.”
Silence.
His throat tightened , but he kept it down. No shaking hands. No panicked voice. He reached out slowly and took the blade from the floor , sliding it shut with a soft click , then slipping it into his coat pocket.
Then he stood, and without a word , he walked out of the bathroom
She thought he might’ve left. But a moment later , there were quiet thuds— drawers opening , cupboards closing. The faint creak of a medicine cabinet.
"...Do you seriously not own a first aid kit?” his voice called , too flat to be joking.
Another beat.
“I swear to God , I’m buying one and bolting it to your wall.”
When he came back , he had a towel , damp with cold water , and a sad looking roll of gauze from under her sink. He sat down beside her but not too close.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at her wrists , then at her face. Then back down.
She wouldn't meet his eyes.
With slow , gentle care , he pressed the towel against her arm.
She flinched.
“Yeah , I figured ,” he muttered. “Cold’s supposed to help. That’s the point.”
The silence stretched between them again. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t peaceful.
It was thick and uncomfortable.
And then , finally , he spoke up.
“You knew I was coming today.”
She didn’t answer.
“I texted you. I said I’d be by. You didn’t respond. And I— I stood outside with flowers like an idiot thinking , 'Maybe she fell asleep.'”
He let out a short breath. Almost a laugh. But it cracked halfway.
“I thought maybe you just forgot. But I walked in and found you bleeding on the floor.”
Still , no response.
He dropped the towel , not roughly , but firmly. Then turned to face her fully.
“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that this is okay. You .. you scared me. You—” He stopped himself. Jaw clenched.
“I’m trying really hard not to lose it right now.”
Her eyes flicked up , then away.
“Don’t do that ,” he said quietly. “You didn’t want me to find you like this , I get that. But I did. And I’m not just gonna pat your head and tell you it’s fine.”
Another pause. He sighed.
“I need you to talk to someone. Someone trained. I don’t care if it’s not me. Hell , it shouldn’t be me. But someone.”
Her voice cracked when she finally said , “You’re mad.”
“No ,” he said sharply. “I’m scared. I’m so scared I can barely sit still. I walked in here and thought maybe you were—”
Her arm flinched again beneath the cold. He sighed.
“You’re lucky none of it’s deep,” he muttered, dabbing around the skin with the corner of the towel. “But you knew that, didn’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. More like resignation. She didn’t answer.
“I brought chocolates,” he added after a beat. “They’re probably melting on your table right now.”
He finished wrapping the gauze. Then he stayed there, crouched next to her, fingers idly smoothing the edge of the bandage. Something of a comforting gesture.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said. “But you do have to let someone help.”
No response. Just quiet breathing. Shallow, but steady.
After a long pause, he sighed and leaned back against the wall beside her. Close enough to be there. Not close enough to push.
“Tell me when you’re ready to talk,” he said, voice low. “Or... I don’t know. Sit on the floor. Eat chocolate. Watch something stupid.”
Another pause.
“I can do quiet, too..”