"Fang?!" I cried. I threw myself off the bed. "Where have you been? Why the hell did you leave? How could you-" He was a mess, dark hair dripping and plastered to his forehead, breathing in shallow huffs, shoes caked in mud, shirt disheveled and clinging to him, unusually pale, nose and cheeks flushed. But more than that, he was absolutely trembling. I met his eyes. They were so hollow. Those black orbs were glossed over, like someone had snuffed the life out of them. He tried for indifference, but I could physically see the effort to keep the muscles in his face relaxed. Oh Fang, he had never looked less indifferent.

He looked like he was hanging on by a thread.

I'd never seen anyone look so miserable in my life.

"Are you okay?" I pulled him into my arms, squeezing for a good minute. He felt more like a well-toned ice sculpture than a human being. His arms remained by his sides, so I pulled back. That's when I noticed his knuckles.

"What happened to your hands?!" I pulled him into the bathroom across from my room. Did he get into a fight?

"Sit," I said pointing to the toilet. He obeyed, resting his arm on the counter, then slowly lowering his head into the crook of his elbow. Every movement seemed to take an enormous amount of effort. His knuckles were crusted in blood and textured with splintered wood. I wouldn't be surprised if a few were broken. At least it didn't look like he had frostbite.

"God, did you beat up a forest? What did the trees ever do to you?" I asked pulling out splinters. He said nothing, but his breaths came slower now.

When his hands were cleaned and bandaged, I kissed them lightly. "Do you want to take a hot shower?" His head lolled left and right. I tugged on his arm so he would follow me. He didn't budge.

"I'm going to get you some dry clothes." He was in the same position when I returned. "Fang," I shook his shoulder until he lifted his head, "put these on." He didn't move, so gently I put his arm over my shoulder and lifted. He was so cold! I sat him on the bed, then bent down and began to untie his shoes.

"Max," he stilled my hand, "don't."

The words were a strangled whisper that he seemed to barely choke out. I stared up at him, because who the heck was that? He did not sound right. Moreover, the vibe he was giving off was uncomfortably dark. Far darker than usual, which is saying something. I was damn freaked. So naturally I busied myself by ignoring him and removing his shoes and socks. After pulling on three pairs of socks, I went to make him some hot chocolate.

"When I come back you better be changed." I looked back before shutting the door, feeling like something bad might happen if I left him alone. I know I was being pushy, but he wouldn't take care of himself if I didn't make him.

When I returned, I knocked on the door, "you done?" Silence. Please say he didn't make a break through the window. Then again, I don't think he had enough energy for that.

"Fang?" I eased the door open. Please don't be naked, please don't be naked.

He was holding his wet clothes, still slightly shaking, but at least warmer looking in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I traded him, putting the clothes in my hamper.

"Lay back," I told him, bringing his feet into my lap.

"Max . . ." he protested.

"Shush." It felt like he was trying to become a new ice cream flavor. "Did you take a swim in the artic? If you were any colder you'd be a Fang-cicle." He looked back at me with incredulous eyes. He almost seemed hurt. That shut me up. I wasn't trying to make light of the situation, but it was easier than thinking about how sad he was.

When I was satisfied his feet wouldn't fall off, I looked over at him. He had his head leaned back, eyes closed.

"Fang," I said softly, pulling the cup from his hands. I rubbed circles into his cheeks with my thumbs. He blinked a couple of times, coming back to me. "Are you alright?"

He just leaned forward into my shoulder. I rubbed his back, and slowly his arms came around me in a tight squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said into my shoulder, "I'm so sorry."

I thought about how his shaking figure looked in my doorway. I knew then the truth that I was trying to deny. He was legitimately depressed. And I think I knew it all along. Why do people always assume that someone will be fine? Why do we leave it alone when we know they aren't? Maybe it's easier or more comfortable. Maybe we worry we'll make the other person sadder or maybe we think we can't help them. It wouldn't happen again.

"It's okay," I held him firmly, "everything is going to be okay."

Fang's POV

She told me to get under the covers. I was so tired I couldn't have protested even if I'd wanted to, which I didn't. So I found myself in bed with her in a room I'd never even seen. The single lamp cast her weary shadow on the walls, which were light blue, like the sky in spring. She turned off the light, but I could still see her, only she looked like a shadow now. Her arm came across me, and I scooted closer. She was perfectly warm and perfect.

"Fang," her voice was a wisp of darkness, "I need to know why you left."

I laid there, trying to summon the courage to tell her. Minutes passed. She waited patiently, stroking my back. Why did that feel so good?

"I-I think I just needed to have a choice." I told her about the quilt and the fear and the sadness all swirling inside me like a whirlpool trying to pull me under. I told her everything. Her eyes began to water. "Mostly though," I whispered, "I think I just hate myself." The tears began to fall. It hurt her to hear it, but it was finally out there. It was the truth.

"I think you've punished yourself enough." She was holding me so tight. "I don't think you deserve to be punished. Whenever you feel like that I want you to tell me, don't bottle it up. "And don't ever do that again," she added.

I didn't want to make a promise I couldn't keep, but my shoulders felt lighter. I couldn't have my walls and her too, so I would try.

She sniffed. "Are you staying for good?"

"I want to be with you."

All the tension left her body with a sigh. There wasn't an inch between us, we were like two people holding on for dear life. "I was hoping you would say that," her voice was softer than her breath on my cheek, "because . . . I'm deeply, deeply in love with you."

One second I was there and the next- the whirlpool had swallowed me whole. I was pulled out of my body, and my brain just scattered like light in a prism. Suddenly, my heart and every other organ slammed painfully back into my body. I didn't move, I couldn't even breathe.

Tears still streamed down her checks, but she was smiling as she touched my cheek. "I love you. I love you. I love you so much."

The thin wire holding me together snapped without so much as a sound. Every thought, every feeling, cascaded through my veins like a tidal wave. In a moment, my walls were like wisps of smoke and I was sobbing.

"I- I love you too."

Alternate Version

"God, did you beat up a forest? What did the trees ever do to you?" I asked pulling out splinters. He said nothing.

When his hands were cleaned, "do you want to take a hot shower?" I asked. His head lolled left and right. I tugged on his arm so he would follow me. He didn't budge. I started the tub anyways.

"I'm going to get you some dry clothes." He was in the same position when I returned.

I turned off the water then bent down and began to untie his shoes.

"Max," he slurred, "don't."

I stared up at him, because who the heck was that? He did not sound right. Wasn't that a sign of hypothermia? I didn't want him to die on the toilet like Elvis. Maybe I should get Jeb. Moreover, the vibe he was giving off was uncomfortably dark. Far darker than usual, which is saying something. I was damn freaked. So naturally I busied myself by ignoring him and removing his shoes and socks. When I tugged at the hem of his shirt he lifted his head.

He stilled my hands, "I'll do it."

"When I come back you better be in the tub." I looked back before shutting the door, feeling like something bad might happen if I left him alone. I know I was being pushy, but he wouldn't take care of himself if I didn't make him.

I heard a splash. "You done?" I knocked on the door. Silence. Please say he didn't make a break through the window. Then again, I don't think he had enough energy for that.

Please be okay, please be okay. "Fang?" I peeked around the door.

He was in the tub, shower curtain pulled across, only his head visible. I sat by the tub, facing him, gently grabbing his hand where it rested on the edge. I had to make sure he didn't fall asleep and drown. Sure enough, a few minutes later his eyes fluttered shut.

"Fang," I patted his cheek, "don't fall asleep on me." I began talking all sort of nonsense, trying to get him to focus on me, and trying to forget that he was completely naked. He blinked a lot, but as he thawed he seemed to be more alert, staring at the tiled walls.

I don't know how long we sat there. Finally he looked at me and said he wanted to get out, so I left to make him some hot chocolate. He was in my room holding his wet clothes, when returned. I traded him, putting the clothes in my hamper.

"Lay back," I told him, nodding to the bed. I brought his socked feet into my lap.

AN: RIP tree