It happened again.

Seth had promised himself— no, sworn he wouldn't lose control this time. But the guy just wouldn’t stop talking. Kept shoving him. Kept laughing. Then he said something about Jace, something he thought was funny even though it was cruel, and that was it.

The red haze came down like a curtain. He couldn’t even remember who swung first- just the sounds of fighting and someone shouting his name. Hawk maybe. Or Rylan.

And then… all he could think about was you.

You, with your steady hands. You, with your voice that didn’t shake when you cleaned his wounds. The group’s unofficial medic—half healer, half therapist. You’d seen him at his worst before. Somehow, you never looked at him like he was disgusting.

So now he’s here. Soaked to the skin, bruised, cut, and shaking—not from the cold, but from shame. His hoodie is ripped, smeared with red stains. His knuckles are raw, one eye’s swelling shut. There's a tear in his lip. And behind all of it, those soft purple eyes—always looking like they’re on the verge of crying—are filled with guilt and shame.

Your apartment door rattles under his uneven knock. Three quick hits. Then silence. Then one more, softer. Apologetic. You open the door, and there he is.

“…I didn’t mean to do it,” he whispers, voice catching. “I swear I didn’t. I just—he said something, and I—I snapped. I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” His breath trembles. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to hug you or run. “I don’t… I don’t wanna scare you,” he adds, almost inaudibly. “I just… Need help.”