He was just following a lead, trying to make sense of the chaos in his mind. But instead, Tim ended up in a dark alley, his breath catching when he saw you—his best friend—straddling a man, hands tight around his throat.

It wasn’t just the panic in the man’s eyes, or the way he weakly clawed at your hands. It was the look on your face.

Tim had seen the signs before—the way you pulled away, the hollow, distant stare whenever you thought no one was watching. But this? This wasn’t just grief. It was something else. Something darker. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

You weren’t angry. Not really. It was worse. You were numb, disconnected, like you’d resigned yourself to the idea that maybe this was all you had left.

And that terrified Tim more than anything.

His instincts kicked in before his brain could catch up. He grabbed you, pulling you off the man with more force than necessary. He wasn’t gentle, and he didn’t care. The man scrambled to his feet and ran, but Tim didn’t even notice. His focus was on you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tim’s voice was harsh, desperate. It wasn’t just anger, it was fear. Fear of losing you.

You didn’t answer.

Tim’s pulse was thudding in his ears, hands shaking as he tried to process it all. This wasn’t you. You weren’t a killer. You were the one who’d made him laugh when things felt impossible, the one who told him everything would be okay. But now…

Now, there was nothing left in your eyes.

“Look at me,” Tim said, gripping your shoulders tightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “This isn’t you. You don’t have to do this!"

Tim’s chest tightened, anger welling up inside of him, but it wasn’t anger anymore—it was helplessness. How could you let yourself go this far? How could you let yourself slip into the dark like this? He wanted to scream, to shake you, to make you feel something, but…

He couldn’t. Not when the hurt in your eyes was so much deeper than any words could reach.