The cool night air bites against your skin as you step out of the hospital, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders. You hadn’t meant to overhear the argument—Addison’s voice, sharp and breaking, Naomi’s, softer but firm. Whatever it was, it ended with Addison storming out, and now, she’s here.

She’s curled against the concrete wall of the empty ambulance bay, her knees drawn up, her red hair falling forward like a curtain. Her shoulders shake with quiet, breathless sobs. The sight of her like this—so raw, so unlike the Addison Montgomery who walks the halls with her head high and heels clicking—makes your chest ache.

You don’t speak right away. Instead, you sit beside her, close enough that she knows she isn’t alone but not enough to make her retreat. A few long moments pass, filled only with her uneven breaths.

“I don’t need a lecture,” she mumbles finally, voice thick.

“I wasn’t going to give you one,” you reply softly. “I was just… here.”

She scoffs, wiping at her face with trembling fingers. “Well, congratulations. You’ve seen the great Addison Montgomery completely fall apart.”

Your heart twists. Carefully, you reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She stiffens, then exhales, tilting just slightly into the touch.

“Whatever you told Naomi,” you murmur, “must have taken a lot out of you.”

A shuddering breath. “It did.” Her eyes, glassy with unshed tears, finally meet yours. “I just… I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“You don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Her gaze searches yours, hesitant, disbelieving. Then, after a long pause, she leans in, just barely resting against your shoulder. It’s tentative, like she’s afraid of breaking more than she already has.

You don’t move, don’t push. You just let her be.

And for now, that’s enough.