The room was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the far wall. You sat hunched over on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped tightly between your knees. The laptop lay discarded beside you, its screen dim, but the bolded red mark was still burned into your mind. A failing grade. The weight of it sat in your chest like a stone, suffocating you more and more with every passing second.
You hadnât spoken since you read the results â you hadnât even looked at them. Your F/O stood a short distance away, watching you with their arms crossed, their expression unreadable in the dim lighting. Their presence was overbearing, as it always was, but you couldnât bring yourself to meet their gaze. Not when you already felt so small.
Your fingers tightened, nails biting into your palms. âGo ahead,â you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. âTell me I shouldâve done better. That I was stupid for thinking I could evenââ
A moment passed before you heard the quiet sound of their footsteps. Then, the warmth of their hand as it came to rest against your jaw, fingers tilting your face up. Reluctantly, your eyes met theirs.
âYou overestimate how much I concern myself with failure,â they said smoothly. âIt is a temporary state, nothing more.â
You flinched, your throat tightening. âYou donât have toââ
They ignored you. âIf I thought failure was unacceptable, you wouldnât be sitting here right now,â their thumb brushed along your cheek, a touch so fleeting you almost didnât believe it happened. âTell me, do you intend to resign yourself to mediocrity over one insignificant result?â
You felt stripped bare beneath their gaze, as if they saw right through you â past the anger, past the shame, and past the trembling in your shoulders.
Your throat worked around a response, but nothing came out.
Their fingers slid down, ghosting along your collarbone before they withdrew entirely, leaving you cold in the absence of their touch.
âStand,â they ordered, and though you didnât want to, you obeyed.
They looked you over for a long moment, their piercing gaze searching yours before they finally spoke again, âYou will do better next time.â It wasnât a question- it wasnât even an encouragement. It was a fact. âAnd if you donât, you will try again. You will keep trying until you succeed.â
Your hands curled into fists at your sides, âYou make it sound so easy.â
Their lips twitched â not quite an amused smirk, but simply something unreadable in the way they looked at you. âNothing worth attaining ever is.â
A sharp breath tore from your throat before you could stop it, and then another. Your vision blurred, and your hands began to tremble. The shame clawed up your spine, but it wasnât enough to stop the flood as it broke free. A quiet sob slipped past your lips, muffled as you pressed a hand to your mouth.
There was no hesitation when they turned back to you, though their expression remained unreadable. You couldnât bring yourself to look at them, your shoulders curling inward, and your breath hitching as you fought to contain the raw, helpless sound bubbling up in your throat.
Their hand found your wrist first, prying your fingers away from your face with an effortless ease. Then, without a word, their arms encircled you, drawing you forward until you were against them. Your forehead pressed into their chest, the fabric of their clothing smooth beneath your skin, their warmth seeping through.
And that was all it took.
The sob you had tried so desperately to restrain broke loose, shattering against the quiet of the room. Your fingers clutched at the fabric at their sides, twisting, gripping like youâd fall apart without something to hold onto. The tears came freely now, soaking into their clothing, your breath ragged.
They didnât offer empty reassurance, but they also didnât tell you to keep quiet. They only held you. One hand rested against the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, and the other settled firmly against your back, keeping you locked against them.
You didnât know how long you cried, but eventually, your sobs quieted into uneven breaths, your grip on them still tight. They had not moved an inch.
Finally, their voice came, âAre you finished?â
You exhaled shakily, your body still pressed to them. âI donât know,â you mumbled against their chest.
Their fingers flexed slightly against the back of your head, âThen, take your time.â
For once, they did not command. They simply⌠let you be.
