Against the Edge

Hidden Scars, Open Arms

When Ethan's car pulled into the parking lot, Louis was already waiting outside Miguel's apartment building. He immediately approached, worry etched on his face as he saw Ethan and Blanca helping Miguel out of the car.

Without a word, Louis slipped Miguel's arm over his shoulder, sharing the weight as they guided him into the building. Blanca opened the door, watching as Louis carefully helped Miguel settle into his bedroom, making sure he was comfortable. She lingered in the hallway, her concern deepening with each passing second.

Once Miguel was settled, Louis joined Ethan and Blanca outside Miguel's room. Blanca seized the moment, looking at Ethan with a mixture of worry and determination. "Ethan," she whispered urgently, "what happened out there? Why did he... why did he look like that?" Her voice trembled with both concern and frustration, a hundred questions hidden behind her words.

Ethan, his face set with quiet resolve, sighed softly. "Blanca," he began carefully, "just... stay with him tonight. He needs you, that's all." He avoided her gaze, aware of her persistence, but he knew he had to respect Miguel's privacy.

Blanca's eyes narrowed slightly, sensing there was more he wasn't saying. "Ethan, this isn't the first time I've seen him push himself too far, but... this was different." She paused, then took a step closer, her voice softer. "Please, tell me what's going on with him."

But Ethan simply shook his head, keeping his gaze steady yet gentle. "Blanca, if anyone can help him, it's you. Just... be there. That's what he needs most."

Just then, Louis returned, giving a quick nod toward Miguel's room. "Blanca, go to him. He'll be alright, but he'll feel better with you there."

With a last look between Ethan and Louis, Blanca inhaled deeply, her frustration mingling with understanding. She turned back toward Miguel's room, her heart heavy with worry but her resolve strong. Inside, she found Miguel lying on his bed, his breathing more even, but the lingering shadow of his struggle still etched in his face.

As she took a seat beside him, she whispered softly, "I'm here, Miguel. I'll always be here."

Outside, Ethan and Louis shared a brief look before quietly making their way to the door. Ethan glanced back once more, hoping that Miguel would find the comfort he needed in Blanca's presence, and together, they left the apartment, closing the door softly behind them.

—

As Miguel's breathing slowed, Blanca wrapped her arms around him, softly stroking his hair, feeling the tension in his body ease. She held him close, letting her gentle touch soothe him as he drifted between consciousness and sleep. Just before his eyes closed completely, he whispered, almost too softly to hear, "I'm sorry... Blanca."

His voice was fragile, carrying the weight of his unspoken struggles. She leaned in closer, holding him a bit tighter, and whispered back, "There's nothing to be sorry for, Miguel. I'm here. Rest now."

As Miguel slipped into a deep sleep, Blanca remained beside him, her heart heavy with concern. She watched his peaceful face, though traces of his recent distress lingered. Despite her own exhaustion, her mind raced with questions—questions that Ethan had refused to answer. What was Miguel carrying on his own, so heavy and hidden?

Blanca rose from the bed, careful not to disturb him. Moving quietly around his room, she noticed the scattered papers, textbooks piled haphazardly, and an overturned chair, signs of a mind under strain. His usually neat room looked disordered, as though it mirrored his inner turmoil.

Without hesitation, she started tidying up. She carefully gathered the strewn papers, stacking them neatly on his desk, and placed his textbooks in a line on the shelf. In the living room, she straightened the pillows and folded a throw blanket over the couch. There were empty water bottles and coffee cups scattered around, she collected them and rinsed them in the sink, wiping down the counters as she went.