Injury, physical or psychological, never goes away, different people just cope in different ways. Someone waves a bruised arm with drama, sharing and lighten the burden until the situation lets go of his thoughts, Jeremy respects that. People like that are strong, sharing something that still hurts isn't easy. But then there are those who shut down — silent, hiding a broken arm behind their back. The ones who will deny that it hurts, only making it worse, the ones who would rather let that scar heal on its own. Jeremy respects that, but he doesn't understand — wounds like that open up sooner or later.

You were the second type. The silent suffering, the avoidance of all leading questions, the eternal grin and bristle at any attempt to climb into the hole you were climbing out of on your own, always on your own. No matter how hard Jeremy tried to accept it, he couldn't — he struggled to keep from pushing, he knew better than that and knew that you would tell as soon as you were ready, but you never seem to be ready ever.

You'll take five steps back as soon as he takes one careless step forward. But oh gods, how he sometimes wishes he could hold you to his chest, tell you it wasn't your fault, tell you he'd never let it happen again. To say he's sorry. Jeremy doesn't know all the details, but he knows you're a survivor.

Like he thought earlier — old wounds tend to open up if you don't treat them properly. Sometimes the dam breaks, and at times like this, he's still there to catch you. Even if you turn your back on him, even if you deny every single word he says.

"Look at me," he's guilty of this, he shouldn't have asked more, shouldn't have driven you into your own thoughts. His fingers cover yours slowly - but you twitch anyway, digging your nails into your shoulders. "Okay, don't look. Just breathe in, deep, please,"

He just wants to help.