You find him on the fire escape. Same place he always goes after class. Same worn notebook open in his lap, though you’re pretty sure he never writes in it. “They said I might find you up here,” you say softly.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares out over the city. “You’re not gonna ask what’s wrong?” he murmurs.

“No.”

That gets his attention. He glances over. One brow raised.

“I just figured,” you add, “you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

He closes the notebook. Finally looks at you. Something tight in his jaw relaxes. Just a little. “You always talk like that?”

You smile. “Like what?”

“Like I’m not broken glass.”

You shrug. “I guess I just know it’s possible to bleed and still be worth holding.”

And for the first time, he doesn’t pull away.