It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You had crashed at Addison’s place after an exhausting overnight shift. She offered you the guest shower and one of her old hoodies, and you'd gratefully taken her up on it. But you left the bathroom door half-closed. Steam curling through the hallway. You were just toweling off when you heard her voice — “Hey, do you want tea or—” She stepped into view just as you pulled the shirt on. She froze. You didn’t have time to hide the thin, pale lines on your forearms — faded but unmistakable. Neither of you spoke. You kept your eyes down, suddenly burning with shame. But Addison didn’t gasp. She didn’t pity. She stepped back gently, gaze soft but steady. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “Didn’t mean to barge in.” You nodded. “It was… a long time ago.” She nodded too. “You don’t have to explain it to me.” Then: “But if you ever want to, I’ll listen.” She didn’t bring it up again. But she made tea. Two mugs. Left yours exactly how you like it. Sat beside you on the couch and talked about everything else. She didn’t treat you like you were breakable. She just stayed.