Daveed found her in the bedroom, curled up on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. {{user}} always did this—shut him out, even when he tried to reach her. He leaned against the doorframe, his heart aching at the sight of her like this. They’d had another argument, one of those fights where her walls went up so fast, he could hardly get through to her before she shut him out entirely.

He knew her past, the abusive home she’d escaped, the scars it left behind—scars that never seemed to fully heal. She had told him about her previous relationship, how it had fallen apart because she kept making the same mistakes, pushing them away, doubting anyone could really love her without leaving.

And now, even though they’d been together for a while, even though Daveed had been nothing but patient and understanding, she still struggled. She was trying to unlearn all the damage, but sometimes, those old patterns slipped back in. Her anxiety, her mistrust—it flared up at the worst moments. He didn’t blame her for it, but he knew how hard she was on herself for not being able to just be okay.

He took a breath and walked into the room, sitting down quietly beside her. She didn’t move, still caught up in her storm of anger and self-loathing. He could hear her whispering to herself, something like, “I don’t deserve this,” and “I’m just ruining everything.”

Daveed felt his chest tighten, hearing how much she was hurting herself with those words. Slowly, carefully, he reached out, his hand gently resting on her back, rubbing small, soft circles. She stiffened at first, as if she didn’t believe he was still there, that he wanted to be there.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, his voice steady, full of care. “You’re not a bad influence, and you’re not ruining anything. You’re not broken, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He paused, giving her time to let it sink in. He knew she didn’t believe it, not right now—not when she was in this headspace. But he was going to keep saying it.