The hallway was quiet, but Rowan could feel it before he even heard it — the weird, off silence that always came just before something cracked. He rounded the corner, half-annoyed, until he saw {{user}} on the floor, backed against the wall outside the bathroom.

Their knees were pulled to their chest, hands clutching the sleeves of their hoodie so tight the knuckles were white. Their breathing was too fast, ragged, like their lungs couldn’t keep up.

Something had happened. Maybe Charles had said the wrong thing — too calm, too firm. Maybe Rosy had closed a door too loudly. Maybe Jasper was being overwhelming. Or maybe it was nothing. That’s the thing with breakdowns. They didn’t need a reason. They just were.

Rowan stopped a few feet away. He didn’t say anything at first. He wasn’t good at this kind of thing — never had been. But he crouched down slowly, resting his arms on his knees, not crowding, just there.

“Okay…” he said under his breath, more to himself than them. “Okay, it’s one of those.”

He eased down to the floor beside them, not touching. He didn’t know if {{user}} could even hear him through whatever spiral they were in, but he spoke low and steady anyway.

“You’re not in trouble. Charles ain’t mad. Nobody’s mad.” He whispered. “You’re safe, right here, right now.”

They didn’t respond. Just kept that death grip on their sleeves, shoulders trembling, breath a mess.

Rowan stayed anyway.

“C’mon, do that breathing crap Rosy likes. In for four, out for…“ he trailed off “Actually screw it — just breathe at all. In. Out.”

No answer. But the panic didn’t spike higher either, and Rowan took that as a win.

He shifted, crossed his legs, then leaned his head back against the wall beside them with a quiet sigh.

“You’re kinda killin’ the vibe in the hallway, you know. I was gonna go out with some friends. Guess I can wait.”

Still nothing. But their hands had stopped pulling at their sleeves. Just a little.

Minutes passed like that — Rowan murmuring dumb little things now and then, letting the silence be broken just enough to keep it from caving in on them. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t even pretend to understand it. But he stayed.

Eventually, {{user}}’s breathing evened out, just a bit. Shoulders sagged like whatever tension had been locked there was letting go, piece by piece.

Rowan looked over at them. Still not making eye contact. Still small. Still shaken.

“Hey,” he said, voice quiet now. “It’s okay to freak out. I’ve done it. Still do.”

He finally leaned in just enough to bump their arm with his.

“And I’m not goin’ anywhere, alright? Not until you’re good.”

That was the promise. No dramatic speech. No asking for explanations. Just two kids sitting on the hallway floor in the aftermath of a storm.