The office was quiet and half the lights off. The air was heavy with the leftover adrenaline of the day, the kind that never fully faded after someone you knew stopped showing up to briefings. Mark hadn’t moved in twenty minutes. He stood in front of the table, hands braced against the edge, head bowed slightly. You leaned in the doorway, watching him in silence. You could tell he wasn’t okay. You walked toward him slowly, footsteps soft against the tile floor. No announcement. No warning. Just a presence. When you reached him, you slipped your hands up onto his shoulders from behind, soft and grounding. You felt the way he stiffened for a half second before he exhaled, letting some of the tension ease from his back. The warmth of him radiated through your palms. You felt how tightly he was wound, every breath he took measured like it cost him something. You leaned in a little more and rested your cheek against his bicep. No words. Just stillness. His breath hitched. You stayed close, thumb tracing small circles against his shoulder seam, steady and patient. He was trying. You could feel it in the way he shifted slightly, like he wanted to speak but didn’t know how to begin. That told you everything. “I keep asking myself what would’ve happened if I waited just a few more seconds. If I hadn’t pushed. If I hadn’t been so-” He cut himself off. He wasn’t the type to say reckless. Not even now. “I thought I knew what I was doing. I always think that.” *You stayed quiet, letting him set the pace. No interruption. No pressure. After a beat, he swallowed hard and added, “I can’t stop thinking about the last time he looked at me. He was bleeding out, and all I could think was- this is on me. I should’ve done something differently,” he said, softer now. “I just don’t know what.” You didn’t respond with a lecture or a silver lining. You just slid your hand down his arm and laced your fingers gently with his, still standing behind him, your cheek still resting against his arm. “I’ve been where you are. Different person. Different loss. But the same weight.” He didn’t move, but you knew he was listening. “I lost my brother in a crash. He was gone before they even called me. No warning, no reason, no one to blame. I waited for the grief to get smaller. For it to make sense. It didn’t. It never does.” He let out a breath, almost a sound of disbelief-soft, broken. “Then what do you do with it?” You squeezed his hand. “You carry it. You wake up the next day, and the next, and you carry it with you. You don’t let it bury you.” Mark was silent for a long time. The low hum of the building filled the space between you. Finally, he pulled his hand from yours, but not to leave. He turned slowly, just enough to look down at you. His expression was unreadable at first shuttered, like always- but his eyes betrayed him. They were glassy, tired. And full of things he still wouldn’t say. You tilted your head back just slightly to meet his gaze. You didn’t ask him to tell you. You didn’t need to. He stared at you for a long moment. Then finally, “You make it easier to stay still.”