The moon barely cuts through the tangled branches overhead, casting fractured silver light on the forest floor. You (his boyfriend) stumble over a root, your breath sharp in the cold night air, heart pounding. You hadn’t expected to find Jackson out here—not like this.

He's sitting against an old oak, one knee drawn up, his other leg stretched out like he’s too tired to hold himself together. A blade glints in his shaking hand, the blade dragging a fresh line along his arm. The scent of blood is faint but there.

“Jackson—” You move forward, but his eyes snap up, electric blue in the darkness.

“Don’t,” he warns, voice rough, but there's no real fight in it. His fingers clench around the blade, like he’s bracing himself for something worse. “Just... don’t.”