the bathroom smelled like cheap disinfectant and something faintly metallic, the kind of scent that clung to these dingy school restrooms no matter how many times the janitor halfheartedly mopped the floors. the overhead fluorescent light flickered slightly, casting harsh, sterile light over the cracked tiles and smudged mirrors.

but none of that mattered. not when you could hear her breathing—shaky, uneven—just beyond the stall door.

you took a cautious step forward, your sneakers scuffing against the grimy floor. the stall door wasn’t locked, just pulled shut, and through the small gap near the hinges, you could see the edge of a red sneaker, the fabric worn and frayed at the seams.

“syd?” you tried again, your voice quieter this time.

a sniff. a pause. then, a hoarse and tired, “go away.”

you exhaled slowly, resting your hand against the cold metal of the stall. you weren’t sure what had happened—if it was her mom, or school, or just one of those days where everything felt like too much—but you knew her well enough to recognize when she was barely holding it together.

“i can leave if you really want me to,” you said carefully, leaning against the stall wall. “but i don’t think you do.”

there was a silence, thick and heavy, stretching long enough that you thought she might not answer at all. then, the quietest laugh—bitter, hollow. “no shit.”

you could picture her, curled up on the toilet seat, her knees drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to disappear. her sleeves were probably damp from wiping at her face, her knuckles red from either frustration or something worse. maybe she’d punched a wall again. maybe she hadn’t meant to.

you sighed and slid down to sit on the floor outside the stall, your back pressed against the door. “i’ll be here when you’re ready.”

for a while, nothing. just the hum of the lights, the distant echo of footsteps somewhere down the hall. then, so soft it barely reached you through the door—

“…okay.”