-1A/N: Sellie one-shot for Shannon, a couple of weeks after her b-day. Only for Shannon would I write this. Please do not think this expresses my own opinions on any pairings on Degrassi. Do realize this is a whole lot of love directed at Shannon. Happy Birthday, dahling! Um, takes place between season three and season four.

There were few places left where I felt truly safe.

I could count them on one hand: At Marco's house, his parents hovering around us - sometimes too much - and brimming with love. At my grandma Nina's cottage, where all I had to worry about was getting too much sun. At my co-op, where I knew at least for a few hours I didn't have to worry about my mother.

And with Sean. It didn't matter where, when, or for how long. Just being with Sean seemed to make nearly everything melt away until it was just him, me, and the feelings he caused to swirl inside of my heart.

He was the constant I hadn't had in my life for so long. Since before my mother rediscovered her drinking problems, before my father went to go fight a war that wasn't even his to fight… He brought back a sort of innocence I hadn't realized I had lost, a safety net I'd been all too sure I no longer needed.

It had never been more obvious than in the last couple of summer months, with the unbearable heat of the outdoors and the lack of air conditioners. I'd felt so hot sometimes I could just perspire on the spot.

But I could swear at times my brain was turning to mush because when I struggled to get to sleep at night, tossing and turning in my sweaty bed sheets, I thought about how Sean didn't have air conditioning, either. That Sean was just as uncomfortable back in his own apartment. I could picture him tangled up in his sheets, struggling to sleep.

That was when I actually slept over my own house and not with Sean.

I couldn't quite figure out when I'd begun sneaking into my own home, the morning air cooler than it would be come the afternoon hours. Or how I'd become so proficient at tiptoeing through the living room and into my own bed, laying down there like I had spent the night.

I guess I should be grateful my Mom was usually too wasted to notice. Of course, the irony was that I was spending so many nights at Sean's because she was drunk all the time.

I didn't care. I got to be with Sean, my back pressed against his chest as his arm cradled me close. His head would usually burrow into my back, his hot lips cooling on my skin as we slept. It was the only time I got a good night's sleep, anymore.

With Sean it was love and sex and right here, right now spinning out into the summer heat. Not childhood and adulthood mingling together to leave nothing but a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat.

Sean. He's my guiding compass, that overly used cliché "special someone" who made the world just a bit more bearable to live in each day.

And so I went to him, when I had no place else to go.

His smile was bright as he opened the door, spreading across his face with the easy joy of a child who has been placated. "Ellie, hey." He takes in my face and must read all my secrets there, even the ones I don't know exist, because his face falls quickly. "What's wrong?"

I stand in place, not even wanting to step past the doorway anymore. It was only 1:00 in the afternoon, my black cotton top was sticking to my skin, and I wanted something from him I knew he couldn't give.

He takes my arm and steers me in when he realizes I'm not going to move, not going to say anything. I'm too busy thinking to register when he gently sits me down on the couch until he takes my hands in his own. The skin there is cold, a stark contrast to the sticky air of the apartment

"How the hell are your hands cold?" he asks out loud, rubbing the flesh and truing to pour in heat as he raises an eyebrow toward me.

I pull my hands away, knowing it was now or never. Slowly, deliberately, as though I was unveiling the newest artistic masterpiece, I begin to roll up my long sleeve. Each inch reveals an angry, red cut amongst the pale skin and fading scars. Little criss-crosses and small lines, up and down.

Sean reaches out a hand toward the largest one, nearly touching me before pulling back. He doesn't say anything, just sits there staring at me. I can't bare to look directly at him, flickering glances toward his face showing me the scattered emotions crossing his face.

I muster up my voice and say, "I'm sorry," without even knowing why I'm apologizing.

His eyes shade over with what I think is disappoint or disgust, but when he forces me to tilt my chin up and meet his eyes head on I realize it's concern.

Oh, yes, that's why I'm sorry.

It's funny, really. I always just wanted her to notice, her to worry. When it's him, his blue eyes looking wounded, my stomach feels tight. He's left no space between us to the point where I'm not sure if it is the airless room or him that is making me feel suffocated.

"Why?"

I don't want to tell him. He knows what's wrong, knows everything… Yet there is still a part of me that feels like I'm six years old, waiting for a mother that won't ever show to pick me up from school. A part of me that still flushes with embarrassment over my mother, the drunk.

"My mother was rushed to the hospital last night. I couldn't wake her up." I shrug, like it is nothing. Shrug, shrug, shrug.

His eyes go wide, making his face look drawn. That wounded look appears again and I feel bad. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"What did you want me to say?" The words sound small, so small. "Hey, Sean… Last night I cut myself for the first time in months because my mom decided to take a trip to the ER. Hey, Sean… My mom got her stomach pumped the other night. Oh, by the way… Check out my new scars?"

He doesn't say anything, just reaches out and pulls me into a hug. I'm tense at first, all pent up emotion and unjustified anger, but I can't resist the familiar smell of safety or the anchoring feel of his arms. I eventually sink in, breath in, close my eyes… Let the world fall away until even the sticky heat that is making my clothing cling to me uncomfortably doesn't penetrate my mind.

Finally, "I didn't know what else to do."

He knows what I mean. "You could have called me."

I pull away, look him in the eyes. "At 3 in the morning?"

"It's not like you'd be waking anyone but me."

Sean. His eyes are so raw and his emotions are so clear. He's never been like me, never been able to hide what he's feeling or swallow down what he's thinking. He just reacts, just feels… just is, and it is the most comforting knowledge in the world to know that when he's looking at me that way it is the truth.

That his heart would break and I would see it right in his eyes, no pretense or guard. I want to give that to him, want to give myself in a way that lets him know I love him and trust him. My arm is cold in a way that isn't possible, feeling overexposed with the sleeve still rolled up but I don't pull it down.

I move closer to him, shake my head and when I meet his eyes again I feel a strange prickling behind my eyes and a hard burn in my throat. It's like the heat of the day had spread to behind my heart and I know what's going to happen, that I'm about to let go with someone in a way I never have before.

The sob that sounds is foreign, cluttered up by so many years of being silenced or muffled into a pillow late at night. The tears are stranger, falling wet and hot down my cheeks but then it's different than anything else because his hands are there, wiping them away. His arms are pulling me close and he's letting me cry, letting me break.

Safe.