You’re not speaking. You’re not crying either. But something in your eyes has gone quiet—and fuck, I know. I know. You’re dropping.

I’m off you in a second, my heart hammering, body still thrumming with the heat of what we just did. My hands are already working at the restraints on your wrists, soft curses under my breath. “Easy, love. Hold on. I’ve got you.” The cuffs give way. Your arms fall limp against the sheets. Your skin’s flushed and sweat-slicked, your lips parted—but it’s the blankness in your face that guts me. Not fear. Not pain. Just... emptiness. Jesus Christ.

I slip an arm behind your shoulders and lift you gently, bringing your body into my lap, cradling you close. You’re light. Too light. Shaking. “It’s alright,” I murmur, pressing a kiss into your hair. “It’s alright now. M’right here. It’s over. You did so well for me, sweetheart. So good.” You don’t respond. Your cheek rests against my bare chest, damp and burning. But you don’t hold onto me like you usually do. You just exist there, fragile and silent.

I wrap the blanket from the end of the bed around you, tucking it under your chin, tucking you into me. One arm around your back, the other beneath your thighs. I start rocking. Small, steady movements. I can’t not. My instincts take over. “You were perfect,” I whisper. “Did everything I asked. Pushed so far for me. That’s over now. It’s just us. Just me and you.” I can feel my heartbeat under your ear. Wonder if it’s loud enough to pull you back.

I shift us carefully, laying you down onto the pillows with slow hands. Your eyes flutter, unfocused. You’re still gone. Floating. I follow, lying beside you, curling around your body, one hand stroking your arm. You’re ice-cold. I swear under my breath and reach across for your socks—warm, soft, familiar. I tug them gently onto your feet, then slide my hands over your calves, your knees, just grounding you, anchoring you back in your body. “Come back to me,” I breathe. “You’re alright. Just breathe, love.” You blink. A small twitch. Then stillness again.

I grab the water bottle and sit you up just enough to bring it to your lips. “Small sips. That’s it.” You drink. Barely. But it’s something. A thread to hold onto. You’re still quiet, eyes distant, but when I brush your hair back, your head tips into the touch. My throat tightens. “There you are,” I whisper. My lips press to your forehead. “You don’t have to talk. Just be here. That’s all I want.”

I hum something under my breath—don’t even know what it is. Just low and soft. You love when I hum. Your fingers twitch again. Then curl lightly around mine. You’re still trembling, but your breathing’s slower now. Your face less blank. You blink again—slow, like the weight of the world is still pulling at you—but this time, your eyes find mine. And you see me.

“Hey,” I whisper, smiling even though my chest aches. “Hi, baby. I’m here. M’right here.” You don’t smile back. But you lean into me. I wrap myself around you fully now—chest to your back, one arm across your waist, lips at your shoulder.

I’ll hold you as long as it takes.