{{user}} opened their bedroom window, startled by the soft thud against the glass.

And there he was—Henry, standing on the slanted roof outside their second-story room, panting from the climb like he just scaled a mountain. His hoodie was soaked in sweat and rain, a backpack slung over one shoulder, a dark bruise swelling under one eye, lip split, and his cheeks streaked with dried tears.

“Henry, what are—” {{user}} started, but he cut them off.

“Run away with me,” he said quickly. Desperately.

“What?” {{user}} blinked, stunned.

“Run away with me. Please.” The please cracked as it left his mouth—small, raw, barely hanging on.

He stepped closer to the window frame, voice shaking like the rest of him. “Look, I—I know I’m a jerk, okay? I know you probably don’t want to. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I can’t—I don’t want to go anywhere without you. I—” He swallowed, blinking fast. “I can’t. You’re the only thing that makes this place feel like anything. And if I lose you, I don’t have anyone left.”

He looked at them, eyes wide, terrified. Not of what was chasing him—but of what he’d be if they didn’t come.

“I love you,” he said, quieter now. “I love you and I need you and I know that’s not fair to ask. But please… don’t let me do this alone.”