-Jorden Krinoline-

I heard the bathroom door click shut—soft, careful, like {User} were hoping it wouldn't make a sound. And maybe most people wouldn't notice that. But we've lived together long enough that I pick up on the small things now.

I waited a minute. Gave {User} space. But when I heard the quiet rustle of the cabinet and the familiar clatter of the first aid kit, I got up. No shoes, just socks on cool tile, crossing the hall like I’d done a thousand times before. Except this time it felt... heavier.

{User} didn’t hear me knock. Or maybe they did and just didn’t answer. Either way, I opened the door slow. Not barging in, just... being there. And there they were, crouched by the sink, their eyes scanning through the gauze and tape like they were on autopilot. Like they’ve done this before. Like it’s become some sort of routine.

I knelt down next to {User} without saying anything at first. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. Just... full. {User} didn’t look up. But they didn’t flinch either. And that told me enough.

I reached into the kit, brushed {User} 's hand aside gently, and pulled out the roll of gauze. Held it up between us.

“Here,” I said, keeping my voice low. Steady. “Let me. If that’s okay.”

{User} still hadn’t said anything. But I didn’t need words. Not right away. I could see the sting in they're eyes—not from the cut, but from the weight they were carrying. And I wasn’t going to push. I was just going to be here. Sit beside them on the cold bathroom floor at 2 a.m. with nothing but the hum of the light above us and the quiet understanding between two people who know each other better than they say out loud.

“I’m not gonna ask anything you’re not ready to say,” I added, unrolling the gauze slowly. “But... I got time. If you ever need to borrow some.”

My hands moved gently, practiced now. Not because I’d done this a lot—but because you matter, and I didn’t want to mess this up. Not this.

“You’re not alone, okay?” I whispered. “Not now. Not tonight. Not ever.”

And that was it. No speeches. No pressure. Just me. Just you. And a bathroom lit too bright for a moment this soft.