"Sweetheart? Oh… Oh, sweetheart. No. No…"

Henry's chest tightened.

At first, the feeling was an eerie chill that turned into a sinking sensation, a bleak void that opened into his chest, sucking in every feeling other than that sinking sensation. It morphed then, to his limbs, his arms and legs, a tingling that bordered on numbness. Within him, the realisation struck first with the intensity that shook his core. And then, from the initial pain and fright, the feeling that engulfed him turned different. It became a sliver of anger, not at you, but at himself for not having seen the signs sooner.

His arms by his side were weak. They hung by the fabric of his suit almost at an uncomfortable angle. The sight of you like that had drained from him all thoughts about his stance.

Henry was frozen in the doorway for a few long seconds. He knew time was relative, but never before did he feel a few agonising seconds expand to such lengths, to what felt like an endless aeon of all dreadful sentiments at once. The words he spoke came off his lips without much of his mind's effect, but solely as the instinctive call upon seeing you in such a state.

At first, it was the shock and its aftermath, the effects upon him, but the aftershock was greater. He forced his feet to work, and he walked in the room, finding himself by your side without registering the length of the short distance.

He knelt by the edge of the bed, hands on your knees, his pupils scrambling behind his glasses to study your face. But each glimpse of that pained look, the tears from your cheek, the red soreness of your eyes and the pained panting all made his heart turn in on itself.

Scrunching harrowingly at the sight.

"Sweetheart?"

You were avoiding his eyes, and Henry tried fruitlessly to catch yours. All he got to see was the pain inscribed, etched into your face rather than the look in your eyes. He had glimpsed only for a moment before, enough to see the physicality of them, but not to glance past them into your heart.

"You didn't tell me…" Henry stated, his hands anchoring themselves on your knees. The size of his palms and fingers left a warm imprint underneath them as they rested on your legs. His thumbs started to move, in a slow motion intended to soothe you and perhaps himself. His words had been a statement that, upon being spoken out loud - be it in a quiet voice - had reflected back to you the severity of what you had been doing.

When one is harming themselves, their world narrows upon that soothing pain, the desire to replace the ache of one's heart with something feasible. With a marking on one's body that can be seen and accounted for. Something raw and visible against the unheard ache within. When that would happen, it would become a distant thought what the actions themselves amounted to, how it would be seen outside the flimsy circle of one's comfort. Perhaps the temporary pain was so, a comfort to one's soul, but from outside, someone would so easily see how this was but a warning, a neon warning of how pained one was.

"Have you?…" the question that came from Henry sounded accusatory, but not toward you. Toward himself. He worried that you had left him signs, clues, that he had failed to see as he focused on his own plans. So much so that he didn't notice your pain, one that he, of all, should have understood best.

"No." "No… I… I feared so. Sweetheart…"

Henry's head bowed forward, his forehead resting on your knees as his hands slid around your knees, hugging them as his face nestled against the spot that his palms had already warmed. The man wasn't going to pry, or to accuse you or to lash out. He knew the emotional turmoil would only be worsened by a flurry of questions, so he remained quiet at first.

The sharp metal object, discarded by your side before it could've been used this time, waited. Henry turned his head, his other cheek now on your knees, and his hand reached over to take the object.

At first, your hand reached over to oppose, but it remained hanging in the air a few inches next to his, as his head left your knees to look at you as he removed the threat from next to you. He stood up, heavily, his right foot planted into the wooden floor first as he pushed himself up, taking the sharp tool aside and leaving it in a drawer, with the intention to dispose of it fully after comforting you.

Henry turned to you after the item was gone from sight, and sat by you on the edge of the bed, his hand taking yours, thumb brushing the inside of your palm with slow circular strokes.

"Were you going to do it, sweetheart?" "…I wanted to."

Henry quieted for a moment, his hand continuing to soothe yours. Then he scooted closer to you, turning to face you, despite your attempt to look away. His eyes lingered on your cheek as you avoided him, but he was patient.

Despite his ardent desire to pull you into him and promise you the world. When at long last you faced him, it was for a second. Your eyes welled up with tears, a feeling of shame and guilt pushing you to hide from him again.

But Henry didn't let it happen. His free hand found your cheek, and he stopped you gently from turning away.

"Hey… hey…. no. No, sweetheart. Look at me, could you do that, please?" He asked, barely above a whisper, his hand sliding from your cheek to your nape, fingers lingering in your hair and gently stroking the back of your head with his nails.

When you did, sniffling, hand attempting to wipe the tears, he nodded, leaning closer and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Good. Thank you…" And after a small pause, he reinforced it again, kinder, warmer. As warm as Henry Creel could sound. "Thank you."

A look in your eyes had been enough.

Your head leaned forward, resting against his shoulder, and Henry wasted no time in guiding you onto his lap, his hand resting by your nape, massaging lightly as the other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug against him. You were at the height of your pain; he knew it, and equally he knew he had to let you ride that pain in his arms before he'd ask what caused them.

Oh, Lord forbid if it was someone that had caused it, another being; he'd be sure to punish them. And yet, he had to restrain himself. To not be brash. What you needed now was safety and comfort. His head leaned against yours, and the arm that coiled around your waist slowly moved to tighten the hold more. To give you a comforting pressure and feeling that he had you. That you were secured in his arms.

"Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?" Henry dared to ask after more minutes past of just quietness. Of him embracing you with the only sound the distant ticking of the grandfather clock and the scent of pie from the kitchen. That was how he found you, after all. He had come to let you know food was ready… and such a lucky timing it had been that his pie was done when it was. "… you're not ready?"

The soft shake of your head made him understand it was best to refrain from prying.

"I understand…" Henry assured you, "But you know you can trust me?" "Mhm…" "That's good, sweetheart… And… When you feel ready, will you tell me then?"

You hesitated. Henry felt that hesitation, ceasing the stroking motion at your nape to glance down at you as he waited for your reply. Surely he could find the answer by himself in your mind; it was an easy task, and yet he promised himself that he wouldn't force his powers on you without your consent. He promised himself he would wait for you to be ready.

"I don't want to burden you with it. It's… it's dumb. It's always something dumb, and it's… making me do this, and it hurts… it hurts that I can't find a better way to…"

Henry saw you were getting worked up, and he hushed you gently with a kiss on your head.

"Sweetheart. What you feel… right here…" Henry placed a kiss on your forehead, then leaned down. He pecked the spot on your shirt above your heart, "… whatever it is, you are all I have, sweetheart, and anything you feel… I can help you. Not now…" His hand left your nape, resting on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin, feeling beneath it the pain of each tear you allowed to drip down it. "But when you feel ready."

"Henry…" "No, sweetheart, I know you want to diminish the importance of what you feel, but I won't let it. There are very few things I won't give you freedom to do, and this is one of them." Henry said, slightly more stern in his tone. "Whenever you allow me… Whenever you feel ready, I can make it all go away. There won't be any need for that anymore."

His tone was akin to a scoff when he referred to that; his head turned to the drawer where the blade lay discarded by him.

"You're not alone, sweetheart. I had once been in this awfully gloomy place… My mind… it was not different from yours. But then it all changed. And… I know it will change for the better for you too. But you have to trust me…"

You nodded as he spoke, his thumb rewarding you with the soft soothing strokes on your cheek.

"Promise me…"

Henry whispered, leaning down so his forehead was resting against yours.

"That next time you feel this way… you will come to me… I won't pry, I won't push, I won't make you say anything you don't want to, sweetheart. I want to have the chance to hold you and show you that there is no reason for you to go through it all alone…"

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