My stomach dropped.
I spun slowly, scanning the room like he might be tucked into a corner I’d somehow missed. But it was all open space. No Iggy. Nowhere to hide except?—
I approached the closed bathroom door carefully. A thin strip of light bled from underneath it. I pressed my ear to the wood and listened. Water. I could hear the shower. Relief and dread tangled in my chest. I almost knocked, then stopped. If he was still out of it, if he slipped... I couldn’t risk startling him.
So I eased the door open instead.
Steam rolled out immediately, thick and heavy, fogging my vision. The sound of running water grew louder as I stepped inside. Through the frosted glass shower door, I spotted him. A small, Iggy-shaped shape curled into the corner.
Panic hit all at once.
“Iggy!”
I yanked the door open.
He was sitting on the floor, bare legs pulled tight to his chest. Pink hair plastered to his face, dye bleeding into the water as it streamed down into his swollen, red-rimmed eyes. A baggyblack hoodie—my hoodie—hung off him, soaked through and clinging to his frame.
He barely reacted.
The only reason I knew he was alive was because he blinked, slow and distant, and I could see his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. His gaze stayed fixed on the opposite wall, unfocused, like he was somewhere else entirely.
It hurt to see him like this.
So small.
Iggy was meant to be loud. Meant to take up space. Not with size, but with presence. He was built to shine, to demand attention just by existing.
He wasn’t meant to be folded into a corner like this. Silent. Drowning.Alone.
I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my socks, then stepped into the shower. Warm water struck my skin, soaking through my T-shirt and jeans almost instantly. I crouched slowly, careful and deliberate, like I was approaching a frightened animal, and rested my hand on Iggy’s shoulder.
He didn’t pull away. Barely moved at all. But I heard the sharp hitch of his breath. Saw the tremble in his lower lip, the way his eyes glassed over. I slid my hand down his back, using the slick tiles to guide him forward, then tucked myself in behind him. My legs bracketed his, and I drew him back until his spine rested against my chest.
He whimpered when I wrapped my arms around his thin frame. A sob tore free when I pressed a kiss to his cheek. When I squeezed him, his hand latched onto my wrist, tight and desperate, like he was afraid this wasn’t real. Like I might vanish if he loosened his grip.
“I love you,” I whispered into his ear, feeling him shiver. “I will always love you. One slip doesn’t change that.”
“Bodhi,” he croaked, tipping his head back against my shoulder. “I—I’m so sorry.”
“Shh.” I kissed his cheek again. “You’re so strong, Iggy Pop. The bravest person I know. But you’re tired. I know you are.”
“I’m not—I’m—” His voice broke, his cries echoing off the tiled walls. “I’m a f-failure.”
I shook my head and rested my temple against his. “No, you’re not. You made a bad choice. You stumbled. And do you know what we do when we stumble?”
“W-what?” he whispered.
“We get back up,” I said softly, repeating the words I’d once told him in rehab. “And we try again.”
He lifted my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m s-so sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have—what I d-did was wrong. And I shouldn’t have tried to drag you down with me.”
I squeezed him in response.
I couldn’t tell him it hadn’t been wrong. I couldn’t erase the mistake or pretend it hadn’t happened. But I could accept his apology. I could hold him while he already felt like shit and not add to the weight pressing down on him.
“I’m just glad you’re safe.”
He let out a shaky breath. “I... I tried calling my mum.”
