David stirred in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled crying. He blinked a few times in his half-asleep state, listening to make sure he wasn't dreaming and sitting up when it failed to stop. He moved to the edge of his bed and pushed back the covers.

He went out into the hallway and flicked on the light, squinting as his eyes adjusted. The crying was more distinguishable from out here.

He went to the most obvious place first; Max's bedroom. The door was already ajar when he got there and he peered inside, light from the hallway shining in and showing his bed to be empty.

David went back out and followed the sound to his upstairs bathroom.

The floorboards creaked under his bare feet and the sobs stopped.

"Max?" David's voice was hoarse from sleep, concerned. "Max? Are you okay?"

There was silence on the other side of the door.

David pressed a palm against the wood of one of the door panels. "Max?"

More silence.

"Is it nightmares? You can come and sleep in my bed with me, if you want," he offered.

When he got no response again David sighed and rubbed at his eyes. So, he was in one of those moods.

Going back to bed wasn't an option, despite how tired David was after a long week at Campbell's Wildlife Retreat, he wouldn't be able to knowing Max was scared and hurting. It had been a good year since the last night terror; David had been hoping it was the last.

"I'm gonna go make us some tea, you want me to put some honey in yours?" said David, knocking on the door again.

He was ignored. David sighed and went to get his dressing gown, heading downstairs, flicking on lights as he did so.

In the kitchen, he switched on the kettle, grabbing a couple of mugs out the cupboard. Max liked ginger and lemon, so David put a tea bag of that in his, chamomile in his own. He got out two plates next, thinking a slice of leftover cake might help cheer Max up a little bit.

David took the cake out of the fridge, cutting the last of it in two, putting the larger piece aside for Max. It had originally been Max's birthday cake from last week. Neil and Nikki had both stayed over the weekend to celebrate his 14th, with a gathering of friends joining them for the birthday party.

His Aunt Gwen had been there too, David's childhood best friend. The kids had been a handful, even with the two of them, but Max seemed to have enjoyed himself in his own, scowling way.

He filled the mugs with water from the kettle, putting everything on a tray and carrying it upstairs. He set it on Max's desk in his bedroom, turning on his lamp.

It was then David noticed the letter on the side table. His eyebrows came together in confusion. He went over and picked it up. To David, Max had written across the front.

David sat down on the edge of Max's bed and tore open the top of the envelope, pulling out the letter inside. He brought it over to the lamp to read it better, scanning the messy scrawl.

His eyes widened.

He dropped the letter.

David was out in the hall in seconds, at the bathroom. He tried the door, found it locked. He rattled the door handle a few more times to make sure.

"Open this door," he said.

This time, when he got no response, David began to panic.

"I said, open this door, Max." David pressed his ear to the wood.

David could hear breathing inside. There was that relief, at least.

"Max, I found your letter and it's- you're really making me worried right now," continued David, trying to keep the fear out his voice, to remain calm and collected. "Please let me inside."

Nothing.

"Please," David pleaded again.

Nothing again.

"I'm serious, Max," he was sterner. "Let me in."

Absolutely nothing.

"Max."

There was nothing. David was just about to turn to go and find something to help him knock the door down with before-

"Dad," squeaked out from behind the door.

"It's okay, Max. It's okay, okay? I'm not angry," his reply was instantaneous. He rattled at the door handle again, desperate. "Please open the door, please, Max. I'm right here, just open the door."

Max sniffed behind the panelled wood, David listening to his footsteps against the tiles, the rattle of the lock as he opened it.

David hadn't seen so much blood in years.

Red stained the sink and the bathroom floor, Max's face pasty. David could see the broken plastic of his razor on the floor. The teenager must have plied out the razor blades by hand, the nasty cuts littering the ends of his fingers confirming it.

Max clutched at his wrist, blood oozing at an alarming rate through his dark fingers, littering the hallway carpet with spots. He was shaking. He was crying.

David stared. The world didn't come to a standstill like it did in the movies, but David wished it had, maybe that way it would have slowed some of Max's bleeding.

"I don't wanna die," Max croaked.

David felt faint, a chill going through him. His shock didn't last much longer, the man springing into action as he moved past Max into the bathroom to grab a towel from the back of the door. "Give me your arm," said David.

"But you just bought those," objected Max.

"It doesn't matter," he replied, taking Max's wrist and pushing it under the sink, flicking on the tap, needing to see how deep he'd punctured. Max gasped in pain at the blast and David apologised quickly, fear rising at the sight of open muscle.

It was bad. It needed stitches. Now.

"I'm sorry, David," Max was sobbing again, a type of breakdown David had never seen before. It was jarring and it scared him.

David put on a brave face and pressed the thickness of his recently purchased towel from Bed, Bath and Beyond against the wound.

"It's gonna be okay," said David quickly, pushing back some of Max's unruly hair with a free hand. "We're gonna stop the bleeding and then we're gonna go to the hospital."

Max looked helpless, young again. It broke David's heart that he had felt like he couldn't talk to him about how he'd been feeling. David felt like he'd failed him. He ushered the teen downstairs, heart pumping in his throat.

They ended up at the kitchen table, David clicking open his First Aid kit with trembling fingers, getting Max sat down. Max's short, shallow breaths only caused him more distress. He pulled gauze from its packaging, warning apologetically it was going to hurt as he wrapped up his wrist quickly, blocking the bleeding. David applied three rolls of the stuff before he secured it with medical tape, feeling a little better once blood had stopped flowing everywhere.

"Come on, let's get to the car."

"Do we have to? It's stopped." Max sounded weak.

"Yes," David had the final word. "You need stitches, Max."

Neither changed out of their pyjamas, David throwing on his jacket and toeing on his shoes. He forced Max into a coat, taking him out barefoot across their front yard to the car.

David was in such a state he didn't even think to bring their insurance details with them, prioritising getting Max to ER to ensure he was safe. It didn't feel real. He kept waiting to wake up but it never happened.

He drove faster than he'd even driven a car in his entire lifetime, knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Max was stitched up pretty much on arrival and given a blood transfusion after his blood pressure was deemed to be lacking severely. David could tell by just looking at Max's face how uncomfortable he was with the sympathetic eyes on him, believing them to be patronising him no doubt.

David rubbed his hands together nervously. Max's social worker and he needed to talk as soon as possible. He rubbed the teenager's back as the wound was sewn back together. He was in pain; David could tell from the way he gritted his teeth and glared at the ground. He requested for Max to be given a dose of painkillers.

The nurse said she would go and find Max's health records on the system when she was finished, dragging the curtain behind her to give them both a little privacy while she was gone.

"I love you, Max," said David once they were alone.

Max stared at his feet.

"You know that, don't you? Have I not been saying it enough?" continued David, hands still stained with his blood, teary eyed. "Have I made you feel like I don't?" He paused. "Why- why did you?"

"Stop," replied Max. His tone was set, cut off.

David recognised this meant he didn't want to talk about it. He kept going anyway. "If you could just-"

"Stop fucking talking."

David didn't try again.

The room was heavy, like it had been the first day they'd met. Everything they'd accomplished, every bit of progress David had ever made with Max, every secret, every tear, every smile. It felt phony somehow. David had thought Max had been happy. Finally, happy.

Max deserved happiness and David hadn't even been able to tell when he'd needed him the most.

His thoughts remained unsaid while Max rested his eyes.