You are so fragile.

I'm afraid to touch you; I'm afraid I'll break you.

You're too thin. You haven't been eating regularly, and when you do eat, you don't eat enough.

You've done this before -- forgetting to eat, working instead. But even then, you remembered who we were -- who I was.

You don't seem to care any more. You stay in your room, sleeping. When you're awake, sometimes you just stay in bed. Sometimes you sit by your window, leaning, weak, against the glass. Sometimes it's like you -- the real you, the you I remember -- is in there somewhere, because you remember that you need to eat. But you recognize no one now -- not even me.

You look so tired. Not all-nighter tired, like the student you once were. You look like it's your soul that's tired: you look worn, drawn, faded. You look used.

I know what you've been doing. You're careful. You sterilize the blade. You only cut where it's not visible, where you can hide it easily. You never cut deep enough to hurt you badly -- only deep enough to let the pain in. You think no one knows.

It's like you've forgotten about me. Once, you told me everything (and I told you everything, too). I know that the pain feels good.

I walk into your room. I want you back so badly.

You're sitting on the edge of the bed, looking into nothing. I say your name.

You don't respond. I didn't really expect you to.

I sit down next to you. You don't react -- you don't say a word -- but you lean towards me. I wrap you in my arms. You are so thin, so full of bones.

I'm thinking of you as we sit there together. Not you as you are now, a shadow of the man I knew and loved. I'm thinking of you as I used to know you, you when you remembered how to be happy.

And then it's like you realize there's someone else in your room, sitting beside you, patient, waiting for you. You stir, weakly.

"Val," you breathe. Even your voice is fragile, delicate. For a moment I'm not even sure you spoke at all. I can feel you breathing, and it's like you've suddenly come back to me:

"Oh, Val," you say. Your voice is a little stronger. I haven't heard you speak for what seems like forever, and now you don't sound like yourself at all. "God." You take a breath; I've never seen you so frail before. "I'm so sorry, Val."

A million responses run through my head. I don't know what to say to you, not after you've been gone so long. "I missed you," I say simply.

"I missed me, too," you say. I feel like I'm watching you come back to life, piece by piece.

You sigh. "I'm sorry, Valentine," you say. "I didn't mean to leave you. Not for so long."

"I'm glad you came back," I say.

And then there is nothing else for us to say.

So... exactly what it says on the tin. Jeb/Valencia hurt/comfort oneshot.

I really don't have a lot to say about this. Except that it's 551 words long.

Yeah.