#sh trigger

the argument ended the way it always did. not with screaming, not with slammed doors or cruel words like most, but with restraint so tight it feels as if it might snap bone.

voices stayed low. careful. polite, even. the kind of quiet that pretended to be maturity while rotting everything underneath it.

itoshi sae remembers everything. you standing in the doorway of the bedroom, arms wrapped around yourself as if you were trying to hold your ribs together. fingers digging into your sleeves hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. you trying your hardest to ensure your voice didn’t shake when you spoke, even though he could see your chest caving in. why do you keep pulling away when things get hard? why do you shut me out instead of letting me in?

sae doesn’t answer right away.

he looked at you for a long moment— too long. his expression stayed distant, eyes dark and unreadable, like he’d already retreated somewhere you couldn’t follow. then he glanced away, jaw tightening, gaze fixing on the wall as if it were safer than looking at you. i don’t have the capacity for this right now, was what he finally ended up saying.

not you.

this.

that distinction sliced through you deeper than any shouted insult ever could have. he didn’t see you as something worth fighting for in that moment. but just another weight on his chest, another obligation draining him dry.

you opened your mouth to say something. anything. to tell him you weren’t asking for perfection, just presence. that you were tired of being alone both mentally and physically.

yet the words stayed lodged in your throat, heavy and utterly useless.

that’s when he grabbed his jacket and keys without another glance. the door clicked shut behind him with a quiet, a devastating finality that echoed through the apartment like a gunshot.

he didn’t know that you stood there long and alone after his footsteps faded, staring hopelessly at the empty space where he’d been. the air felt colder without him. hollow. your heart ached with everything you hadn’t said, and everything he hadn’t stayed to hear.

three days pass since then.

three days of silence that felt fundamentally wrong, like the world had tilted off its axis and no one bothered to correct it. not even him.

his side of the bed stayed untouched, sheets smooth and cold.

the apartment simply felt like it was holding its breath. barren, empty. quiet in ways it never should.

and sae tells himself you are fine.

he tells himself you need space. that you always bounce back. that you’re stronger than you let on, stronger than him, maybe. he repeats those lies like a mantra, clinging to them during drills, during meetings, during the quiet moments when his thoughts slip their leash.

but you linger anyway.

you creep into his head between reps, your voice echoing faintly in his ears. you haunt the pauses before sleep, the moments when the world goes quiet enough for guilt to surface. his chest feels too tight whenever he imagines coming home to an empty apartment— but then he hates himself even more for not even trying to go home.

he checks his phone more than he means to.

when it buzzes that afternoon, his heart jumps violently before his mind can catch up.

your name lights up the screen.

but there is no message.

just your location.

sae’s brow furrows instantly. that isn’t like you. you don’t send vague texts. you don’t fish for attention or play games. if you want to talk, you will say so. if something is wrong, you spell it out.

a slow, creeping unease settles into his chest.

he checks the time.

five minutes ago. he’s been staring at his phone, as if his god himself will open up the gates to your home.

something cold slides down his spine, sharp and unwelcome. his fingers hover over the screen as he types ‘what’s wrong?’ then deletes it. types again. deletes again.

a pressure builds behind his ribs, urgent, painful, telling him to stop thinking and to start moving.

sae grabs his keys.

——

the drive is a blur of red lights and clenched teeth.

sae barely registers the traffic around him, foot heavy on the gas, hands lock white-knuckle around the steering wheel. his thoughts spiral despite every attempt to stay grounded.

you’re probably just upset.

maybe your phone died.

maybe you fell asleep.

maybe—

every excuse feels thin. flimsy. like paper he can’t hold without cutting himself. almost shielding him against something far worse.

when the gps announces he had arrived, relief should have hit him. it didn’t.

the apartment building looms ahead, familiar and suddenly ominous. pulse thumping in his ears as he parks crookedly and takes the stairs two at a time, breathing shallow, dread growing heavier with every step.

the door is locked.

sae knocks once. hard. “hey,” he calls, already shoving his key into the lock. “i’m home.” he says, as if it fixes everything. the silence inside presses against him, thick and unnatural. the door swings open. the apartment is dim, curtains half-drawn. your shoes are by the door. your bag sitting where you dropped it. everything is normal. normal.

that’s the worst part.

“mi amor?” he calls out again, voice tight now. “you here?”

no answer.

his chest clenches painfully.

he moves through the living room, then the bedroom. the drawer on the bedside table is open, oddly enough. your side of the bed, rumpled. sheets twisted as if you’d tossed and turned before getting up without looking back.

a sick feeling churns his stomach, inside out and starting to crawl out a bile.

then he notices the light under the bathroom door.

his steps slow as he approaches, every instinct screaming at him to hurry and to stop all at once. he knocks, knuckles cracking against the door harder than necessary.

“hey,” he says, quieter now. “open the door.”

nothing.

sae’s heart begins to pound so violently it hurts. he whispers your name, the sound breaking halfway through like a plea he didn’t want to admit to making. sae braces himself, not even sure for what.

he pushes the door open.

the smell hits him first. metallic. sharp. thick enough to taste.

his vision snaps onto red. RED.

the world narrows violently, collapsing in on itself as his brain struggles to process what his eyes are seeing.

you’re in the bathtub. body slumped at an unnatural angle, limbs heavy and wrong, just, limp. clothes soaked through and darkened with something he doesn’t want to name. water overflowed onto the tiles, carrying blood now gruellingly diluted with it— pink and swirling, grotesquely beautiful and just as horrifying. streaks of red, thick and half dried, smeared across porcelain, the floor, the shower curtain, a perfect frame picturing the aftermath of something violent and unspeakable.

he feels his voice get stuck in his throat.

there was so much of it.

too much. too fucking much for your body.

for a suspended, horrifying moment, his mind refuses to accept it. this isn’t real. this can’t be real. this is a nightmare, and he’s about to wake up.

then he sees your face.

too pale. lips tinged faintly blue. eyes closed, lashes resting against skin that looks waxy and unreal.

a sound tears out of him. raw, animal, unrecognizable.

“mierda!” he chokes, stumbling forward, knees slamming into the tile with a crack he didn’t feel. “por favor no… no, no, no— please.”

his hands hovers over you, shaking violently. touching you feels wrong. not touching you feels worse. when he finally does, your skin is cold beneath his fingers, slick with water and blood.

you don’t respond. not even a twitch.

sae’s chest seizes so hard he thinks he might vomit. his vision blurs with tears, hot, burning and uncontrollable as panic rips through his skull.

“hey,” he begged, voice cracking apart. “hey— look at me. por favor. please wake up. please, lo siento..”

he presses his ear to your chest, breath hitching violently as he searches for something— anything.

there.

faint. uneven. proof that your life is hanging on by a thread. a thread he almost severed himself.

a broken sob rips from his throat.

“ay dios mío.” he whispers, forehead collapsing against your shoulder. “you’re still here. you’re still here.”

his hands shake so badly, so uncontrollably, he almost drops his phone as he calls for help, words spilling out incoherent and desperate. he follows instructions blindly, pressing against the wound in your stomach, doing everything he’s told, even as terror claws through his ribs.

as he waits, he talks to you.

“i’m sorry,” he says over and over, voice shredded like a mantra. “i shouldn’t have left. i shouldn’t have let you think you were alone.”

tears drip onto your skin as he clutches your hand, fingers slick and trembling.

“please,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “please don’t leave me. i need you. i love you.”

the sirens take too long.

when help finally arrives, sae barely registers them pulling him back, lifting you from the tub. blood stains his clothes, his hands, his knees. he tries to follow, tries to hold onto you, until they force him to let go.

——

the hospital is bright in a way that feels cruel.

fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing everything in a sterile white, reflecting off polished floors that smell of disinfectant and metal. voices echo down long corridors, nurses calling codes, carts rattling past, the distant wail of someone else’s grief. every sound makes sae flinch.

time stops behaving normally.

minutes stretch into something unbearable, elastic and sharp. he paces the waiting room until his legs ache, then sits, then stands again, hands trembling as he drags them through his hair. his nails have been bitten raw without him realizing it. his heart feels permanently lodged in his throat, every beat a painful reminder that yours almost stopped.

sae replays everything over and over again. just on loop. nonstop.

the argument.

the way you’d looked at him.

the door clicking shut. him clicking the door shut on you.

when he closes his eyes, he can still see you in the tub. still smell the blood. still feel the cold of your skin beneath his hands.

he bows forward, elbows on his knees, pressing his palms hard against his face as if he can physically hold himself together. he whispers your name under his breath, similar to one making a prayer, but it’s one he isn’t sure he deserves to make.

when the doctor finally approaches, sae can hardly register them at first. it isn’t until they say his name that he snaps his head up, heart slamming violently against his ribs.

“you’re lucky,” the doctor says gently. “they’re stable.”

stable.

the word doesn’t feel real at first. it floats in the air between them, fragile and holy. then it hits him all at once.

sae’s knees nearly give out. he sinks back into the chair, hands flying to his face as a broken sound tore out of him. he cries— chokes, openly, shoulders shaking hard enough to hurt. relief, doubt, and guilt crashing together so violently it steals each and every breath from his lungs.

you’re alive.

you’re still here.

when they finally let him see you, sae moves swift, as if he were afraid any sudden motion might undo it all.

the room is dimmer than the hallway. lights softened, machines humming quietly, breathing for you. you lie in the bed wrapped in white. bandages, blankets, wires tracing over your skin. tubes ran from your arms, monitors blinking steadily beside you— quite literally your lifeline

you look impossibly small. fragile in a way that shatters him.

he pulls a chair close and sits, hesitant at first, before reaching for your hand. his fingers wrap around yours carefully, fear of you breathing. your hand is warmer now. blood pulsing through.

he presses his thumb against your knuckles, grounding himself in the sensation.

“i’m here, mi amor.” he whispers, leaning close. his voice shaking despite his effort to keep it steady. “i’m not going anywhere. i promise.”

hours blur into days. 3 days to be exact. like those days where he avoided going home to you.

he barely leaves that chair. nurses scold him gently for not eating; he nods and ignores them. he sleeps in fragments, head tipped back, neck aching, jolting awake every time a monitor beeps a little too fast or a little too slow.

every sound terrifies him. because the sounds are your body actively trying to survive.

sometimes he talks to you even when you don’t move. he tells you about nothing. about the view from the window, about how ugly the chair is, about how you always complain that hospitals smell weird. he apologizes in soft murmurs, forehead resting against your hand, voice barely louder than the machines.

“i should’ve stayed,” he whispers one time, eyes burning. “i should’ve been better.”

then, finally— it happens.

your lashes flutter.

it’s subtle enough that he almost misses it. just a small movement. a shift in your breathing.

sae is on his feet instantly, heart slamming so hard he thinks it might burst.

“hi, love.” he whispers urgently, leaning over you. his voice trembles despite himself. “easy. take it slow. you’re okay. i promise.”

your eyes open slowly, unfocused at first, glassy and confused. you blink, brows knitting together as if the world didn’t make sense yet.

then your gaze finds him.

“sae?” the sound of his name. hoarse, real, but undeniably from you— splits him open.

he laughs and sobs at the same time, hands shaking as he presses his forehead gently to yours, tears dripping down onto the blanket. “you’re awake,” he breathes. “you’re really awake. dios— gracias.”

you swallow, eyes glossy with exhaustion and guilt. “i’m sorry..”

sae’s head snaps up immediately.

“no,” he murmurs, voice fierce despite the tears streaking his face. he cups your cheeks carefully, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes. “no. don’t ever apologize for staying. for fighting. for breathing.”

his eyes are red and raw, filled with love and fear and a softness he’s never allowed anyone to see but you.

“i thought i lost you,” he admits. voice still hoarse but every bit true “i thought i’d never hear your voice again. i thought..”

tears slip down your temples as your chest tightens painfully.

he leans in, resting his forehead against yours, breath shaking. “we fight. we mess up. i shut down when i shouldn’t. but you don’t get to disappear on me.”

his voice cracked completely. “te amo,” he whispers. “i’ll protect you, even yourself, if i have to. especially then. i’m sorry. for not being there. so please, don’t do that again.”

you nod weakly, tears spilling freely as he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. soft, reverent kisses full of promise instead of desperation.

he gathers you into his arms as much as the wires allow, holding you carefully, protectively. you’re something priceless he’d almost lost forever. “i’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “i’m not leaving. we’ll fix this. together.”

A/N. i’ve read so many scenarios where people attempt by slitting their wrists in the bathtub. i’ve always found that unrealistic with how deep the cuts they must be to be able to pass away from blood loss. stabbing is a realistic approach logic wise, especially near vitals.