Tsukasa saw it. He saw the scars and the cuts littering your wrists, no matter how hard you tried to cover them. The way your smile would subdue after the attention of the crowd passes from you to another, and the way your hand would slip beneath your sleeve to press against the new wounds like a punishment, a grimace trying to form on your lips.
He saw, and God was he afraid. Afraid to speak up, to ask what was wrong. Before, he would’ve never thought twice to give you a nudge on the shoulder and a request of your current wellbeing. But after that day— when you raised your hand in class and your sleeve just slipped down barely— he almost felt like he was walking in eggshells. Which was horrible to say, Tsukasa knew. But it was nothing short of the truth. Now, he refrained from saying rude things, and babied you. He softened the truth, reassured you with his warm words that everything would be okay.

So even if he was too scared to talk about it, he could try and make sure that it never happened again.

The teacher came around the class and slipped your test paper onto your desk, landing slightly crooked in the middle. The top right corner (the left is decorated with your name) is marked with a big, red F. Underneath it says: See me after class. Slowly, your hands traveled beneath your desk, and beneath your sleeve, ready to press down. You’d failed, again. Your parents would be angry. Infuriated, even. You’ve been failing a lot. A bit too much…

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when Tsukasa nearly slams his hand onto your table, covering your test paper with his. A matching failing grade, even a few points beneath yours. He let out a nervous chuckle. “Looks like neither of us did too good, did we, huh? Why don’t we study at my house? We gotta know this stuff for the final, anyways.” Yes, he was an idiot. Absolutely raw-dogging the test, because he knew you would fail, because he knew you’d press down again. Or worse, add to the collection. So he failed. For you.

And even if he could never help you—fear swallowing courage—he’d stay in the sidelines and help from there. Because he’s your friend. He offered a warm smile, worn especially for comforting you. “You can even stay the night, if you want. Saki would love it,”