Leah's shoulders convulsed suddenly, a sharp, broken sound ripping from her chest. Her hands flew to her face, muffling the sobs that had no warning, no pause. The memories of the past month surged through her, unrelenting, and she could no longer hold them back.
"I… I…" she choked out, voice barely audible between gasps.
Izana's eyes widened behind the blindfold. "Leah?" His voice cracked, unsteady, disbelief threading through the words.
She shook her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks, her body trembling as though the memories were clawing through her skin. "I… can't… I—"
"I'm here," Izana said softly, pushing himself forward. His arms moved awkwardly, painfully slowly, his thin shoulders straining as he leaned over the edge of the bathtub. "It's okay. I've got you."
Leah froze for a moment, the words anchoring her, but the sobs didn't stop. She flinched slightly as he drew nearer, uncertainty gripping her even as she desperately needed comfort.
"I—" she began again, but the words dissolved into another shuddering cry.
Without hesitation, Izana wrapped his arms around her from behind, weak, skeletal, but firm enough to hold her. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, letting herself collapse against him. His chest was cold under her cheek, his ribs pressing lightly, but the warmth of his presence grounded her in a way nothing else had for weeks.
"Shh… it's okay," he murmured quietly, hand moving tentatively along her back. "It's… it's fine. Don't fight it. You're safe."
She sobbed harder, pressing herself closer, shaking, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"I… I'm sorry," Izana said softly, voice low, ragged. "I shouldn't have… shouted. I… I was just… worried. I didn't know… how else to—."
She buried her face further into him, shaking her head, making no attempt to respond. Words were useless. Her body spoke for her, the tremors, the convulsions, the hot, wet tears streaming down.
"I… I've never…" Izana's voice faltered. "I've never worried for anyone before. Not like this. Not… like you. I… I didn't know it could feel like this. I didn't know…"
He pressed his cheek against the top of her head, weak fingers stroking her hair awkwardly but with deliberate care. "You don't have to say anything. Not now. I… I'll wait. I'll wait until you're ready to tell me."
Her cries didn't stop, but a small shudder passed through her body as if the words themselves offered some fragile reassurance.
"I… it's okay," he whispered again, almost to himself, as much as to her. "It's okay. You… you can let it out. All of it."
Leah clung to him, shaking violently, her whole body trembling in the release of grief and fear and exhaustion. She pressed against him, hot tears soaking his chest. She could barely breathe, and every sob shook him, yet he didn't flinch. He held her tighter, his arms circling her thin frame, fragile and fragilely strong, holding her as though his own body might break if he loosened his grip.
"I… I shouldn't have… sent you away," he muttered, voice tight with guilt, trembling as much as she did. "I… I thought… I thought it would keep you safe. And I—"
Leah let out another choked sob, burying her face in his shoulder. She couldn't respond. There were no words that could explain, no explanation that could undo the fear and pain she'd endured.
"I… I didn't… I never… I…" He faltered, struggling with the unfamiliar sensation of concern, of care, of wanting to protect someone else more than himself. "I… I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I… I'm… I just… I'm here. I've got you."
His fingers moved along her back again, slowly, gently, stroking the tight muscles, trying to soothe the tremors. "Shh… shh… it's okay. It's fine. Don't hold it in. You… you don't have to be strong right now. I've got you."
She cried harder, body trembling, hands clinging to his arms as if letting go would mean falling apart entirely. He pressed his forehead to hers lightly, his breath shaky. "I… I won't leave. Not now. Not ever. I'll… I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need."
Leah could only nod against him, letting the sobs consume her, her chest heaving in waves. She pressed herself closer to him, feeling the thin, scarred surface of his chest against her cheek. Her body shook, but she felt a strange, fragile comfort.
"I… I didn't mean to… make you see… any of this," he whispered, almost breaking. "I… I just… I wanted to help. I… I'm sorry I… raised my voice. I… I was… worried."
She trembled violently, pressing herself against him more tightly. She wasn't speaking, not because she didn't want to, but because no words could carry the weight of what she had endured. She let herself break entirely.
"I… I'm… here," he murmured softly, repeating it like a mantra. "I… I've got you. I… I won't leave. Shh… it's fine. It's okay. I'm here."
Her hands dug into his shoulders, clutching him as if she might dissolve otherwise. He held her, weak and trembling, but unrelenting. His fingers brushed gently against her hair, over her shoulders, along her back, careful and slow. Every small movement was deliberate, a promise that he would not let her go.
"I… I… you don't have to tell me anything," he said again, soft but firm. "Not yet. Not if you're not ready. I'll… I'll wait. I… I'll wait until you are."
Leah nodded against him, her tears soaking his chest, body shuddering with grief and exhaustion. "Thank you," she whispered weakly, voice barely audible.
His eyes widened behind the blindfold. She had thanked him before, countless times, but this one—this one was different. He felt it deep in his chest, the strange warmth, the aching feeling he couldn't name. He ignored it, blaming it on the curse, even though it was something else entirely.
He used the last of his strength to pull her closer, holding her tighter against his thin, scarred chest. "I… I'm here," he murmured again. "I won't let go."
Leah pressed herself fully against him, shuddering, tears still slipping down, letting the sobs roll through her entirely. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she allowed herself to be completely unguarded. And for the first time, Izana was not cold, distant, or untouchable.
He stayed with her, quiet, patient, gentle. He shushed her softly, stroked her back weakly, whispered apologies for his own fear, and reminded her that she didn't need to explain. He simply held her.
And in that fragile, tremulous embrace, both of them felt the strange, aching warmth in their chests—the kind of warmth neither dared name. But neither spoke of it. It didn't matter.
For now, there was only this: the rain of sobs, the quiet shushes, the fragile comfort, and the knowledge that they were no longer facing the world—or the past—alone.