Hold On I Still Need You

-Comfort From Friends-

Keefe's POV:

I sit in my room, staring at the empty space where some of Sophie's things used to be. Some things that I had cherished close to my heart. The quiet feels suffocating, pressing in from every direction. Her absence is so much louder now, the silence wrapping around me like a heavy, oppressive blanket.

I've been trying to handle this grief on my own, thinking maybe I could just push through it. But the loss... it doesn't work that way. The weight of it is too much, and no matter how hard I try to keep it together, it's always there—lurking just below the surface, threatening to consume me.

I run my hand through my hair, my fingers trembling slightly. This isn't me. I'm the confident one, the one who always has a smart remark ready, the one who hides behind jokes and bravado. But now, I just feel... lost. Vulnerable. I don't know how to keep going without Sophie. The reality of her death is settling in, and it's like I'm drowning in it.

The knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. I wasn't expecting anyone. Not that I've been expecting anything lately, except maybe a way to make the pain stop. When I open it, I find Biana standing there, her expression soft but full of concern.

"Keefe," she says gently, looking past me into the emptiness of my room. She doesn't even ask if I'm okay. She knows better than that. Biana's not one to push, so she just steps inside, her presence almost like a weight lifting off my shoulders, even though she doesn't say anything. She simply sits with me, like she's willing to share the silence.

We don't talk for a long time. Time seems to stretch out in the quiet, and I'm thankful for it. Sometimes, words feel like they'd only make things worse.

But eventually, Biana breaks the stillness. "How are you holding up?"

I don't answer right away. How could I? I'm not sure if I even know how to answer. It's been so hard to face anything without Sophie, without her light. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it feels impossible.

She waits, her gaze patient, giving me the space to process. She doesn't rush me, doesn't look at me with pity or expectation. Finally, when I know I can't keep it together any longer, I speak.

"I don't know how to keep going, Biana. She... she was everything to me. Now, it's like I'm... I'm just a shell of myself. And I don't know what's left. I don't know how to do this without her." My voice cracks, and for the first time in ages, I don't try to stop the tears that follow.

Biana doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, she tells me, "You don't have to face this alone, Keefe. We all care about you. We're here for you—no matter what."

Her words are like a lifeline thrown into a storm I didn't think I could survive. For a brief second, I feel something stir within me—maybe not hope, but a tiny spark of relief. It's enough to let me breathe again, just a little. But the road ahead still looks impossibly long.

I'm sitting in the same spot, trying to find some kind of peace in the silence when the knock on the door shatters it. I'm not in the mood for company, but when I open it, there they are—Fitz and Dex, standing side by side. They look as exhausted as I feel, the grief in their eyes clear even if they're trying to hide it.

"We've been worried about you," Fitz says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, but his words are firm, like he's ready to get down to business. He steps inside before I can say anything, and Dex follows, a comforting presence in the background.

They don't push me to talk right away. Fitz sits across from me, his usual calm demeanor belying the tension in his posture. It's obvious he's been holding this conversation in for a while.