He shook his head against my chest. “It’s been such a hard year,” he whispered. “I miss her so much.”
I kissed his hair, feeling the echo of his pain. “I know.”
We lay there a long time after that. Not trying to fix anything. Just letting the grief exist without rushing it out of the room. When he finally sat up, he wiped his face with the sleeve of my hoodie and gave me a weak, apologetic smile.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to start the day like this.”
“You don’t owe anyone being strong today,” I said. “Or ever.”
“Thank you, Anthony.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my throat. I felt every unsaid word in the simple gesture. He was here for me, too.
“How about we take a shower. Go and get her some flowers, then pay her a visit.”
Elliot’s inhale stuttered, his grip tightening like he could borrow some of my strength to get through this.
“That sounds like a good idea,” he agreed but didn’t move.
With the greatest care, I unwound Elliot’s fingers from my top and wrapped my arms around him, lifting him into the bathroom. He felt impossibly small against me, fragile in a way he hadn’t been in years. Today, the wound that had started to close was raw again, bleeding beneath the surface in ways neither of us could fix with words.
Steam curled from the running water, fogging the mirrors until the world outside the tiled walls ceased to exist. The only sounds were the rush of the shower and his uneven breaths, shallow at first, like he was still negotiating permission to relax.
He pressed his forehead to my chest, not asking for anything, not needing to. Just seeking something solid. I wrapped an arm around him, holding him close, letting him press into me while the water soaked his hair, traced the curve of his shoulders, and slid down his back. I could feel him trembling slightly, not just from the water, but from the weight of everything he carried.
I hated it. Hated that I couldn’t make it stop. That I couldn’t scrub away the darkness pressing in from every side. All I could do was hold him, careful, steady, present—but helpless. Mychest ached with the knowledge that no matter how tight I held him, I couldn’t keep him from falling apart.
. I just held him, letting the water wash over him while he held onto me like I was the only safe thing left in the world. And for a moment, that was enough.
“Hey,” I murmured, brushing my lips into his damp curls. “I’ve got you.”
Elliot exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since he woke up.
When I reached for the shampoo, he didn’t flinch. He just tilted his head back slightly, offering himself to my hands the way he always did when he trusted me to take care of something fragile.
I worked the soap in slow, careful circles, fingertips massaging his scalp. I took my time. Not because he needed it done perfectly, but because I wanted him to feel how unhurried my care was.
How unconditionally present I was.
His shoulders softened inch by inch. And when I rinsed his hair, he sighed, deep and shaky, like something inside him finally let go.
My mouth found his temple. Then his cheek, followed by the soft skin just below his ear. Small, barely there kisses. Nothing that asked for anything in return. Just: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.
“You’re safe,” I whispered against his skin.
His hands tightened briefly at my waist in acknowledgement.
I washed his shoulders next, paying close attention to his arms, and the curve of his back. Every touch was deliberate. Reverent. Like I was learning the geography of him again in this gentler language.
He leaned into me the whole time, his body trusting my hands to tell him he didn’t have to be strong right now.
When I finished, I wrapped both arms around him and held him under the spray. Elliot tucked his face into my shoulder and stood there, letting himself be held like something precious instead of something broken.
We didn’t say a word, just breathed together. Let our pain flow through us rather than pull us under. Knowing that finally we weren’t alone.
After a long moment, he shifted and reached for the soap. “My turn,” he said quietly.
He washed me with the same care, the same quiet devotion as I’d shown him. His hands trembled when they passed over my ribs. Over my back. Like he was afraid I might vanish if he pressed too hard.
