Damian had been watching you for days—observing the change in your silence, the way your sleeves pulled longer, the way your eyes never quite met his. He knew something was wrong. But he hadn’t expected this. “You’re bleeding.” His voice didn’t sound angry. Just... quiet. You turned sharply. The bathroom door half-shut. His shadow in the frame. He looked like a storm in stillness—green eyes wide, lips parted, something unreadable in his expression. “Don’t lie to me,” he said after a long moment. “Please.” And then softer— “Tell me what’s going on, little one. I can handle it. I just... need you to let me try.” He stepped forward slowly, careful not to startle you. “You're not alone in this. Not anymore.”