Saved By Steven (the first story)

9. Fractures and Fabric

Upstairs, Lauren stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked at herself in the mirror—messy hair, hollowed eyes, borrowed clothes—and whispered to her reflection: I don't even know who you are anymore.

Steven sipped his coffee slowly, eyes following Lauren as she disappeared up the stairs. The room had quieted down again, the brief chaos subsiding into that strange lull that always comes after a storm. Joe sat beside him, warming his hands on his mug.
"You gonna get involved again?" he asked casually, but the edge in his tone wasn't lost on Steven.

Steven didn't answer right away.
"It's not like that," he said finally.
Joe raised an eyebrow. "You said that last time."

"This is different."
Joe huffed a humorless laugh. "It's always different."
Steven looked down at the steam curling up from his mug. "I just... see something familiar, that's all."

Joe didn't push. He knew better than anyone, sometimes it wasn't about being reckless. Sometimes it was just about being unable to look away.
Upstairs, Lauren stood in front of the mirror, her reflection warped slightly in the fogged glass.
She peeled off the borrowed shirt and sweatpants, then hesitated, fingers at the hem of her dress. There was no one here now, no stage, no crowd, no eyes.

She stripped off the dress. The shower's hiss filled the room as she stepped in. The water was blistering at first, but she didn't move. She let it scald her skin until her body adjusted. Steam enveloped her, cloaking her in something she could almost mistake for peace. Drops of water tracked down her arms, her back, her thighs. She tilted her face to the ceiling and let the heat sting her eyelids.
It's fine now. I'm clean now. It's fine.When the water stopped, the silence pressed in again.

Lauren sat on the edge of the bathtub for five more minutes, her fingers curled tightly around the towel knotted at her chest. She stared at the floor tiles until they blurred. Something about the silence clawed at her.

Then, without any clear decision, she stood.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up.
Down the hall.
Down the stairs.
Barefoot.
Still damp.
She floated more than walked, as though watching herself from outside her body.Why am I doing this? she thought distantly, but there was no answer.
Her legs kept moving.
She stepped into the living room.

The six men—Mick, Brad, Joe, Joey, Tom, and Steven—were mid-conversation. Cups in hand. Laughing, maybe. Talking about music. The moment they saw her, an awkward silence swallowed the room whole. All eyes landed on her.

Lauren blinked, unsure of how she'd ended up here. What am I doing? The voices in her head grew louder. Why am I downstairs? Why did I come here?
"You okay?" Mick asked gently, rising from his seat.
Lauren stared at him, the words in her mouth unformed, disconnected.
"Underwear," she said."Sorry?" Mick stepped forward slowly."Underwear," she said again, louder this time. Her voice trembled, her throat clenching around the word like it was too heavy to carry."Honey, what's wrong with your underwear?"
And then it hit. The shame, the fear, the unexplainable urgency in her chest. Lauren began to cry— not delicate tears, but sharp, uncontrollable sobs. She clung to the towel, repeating the word as if it held some key to stability. "Underwear. Underwear..."Mick froze, helpless. "I... I don't understand. What do you need?"Steven set his coffee down and moved beside her."Let me try," he said softly.He knelt in front of Lauren, his voice low, steady. "Sweetheart," he said gently, "what's going on? Can you tell me?"She just sobbed harder."Okay, okay," he whispered, "it's okay. Breathe. Try to look at me, just for a second." He tilted his head to meet her unfocused gaze.
"Can you take a breath with me? Just in—and out."Lauren blinked like she was waking up underwater."Underwear," she whispered.Steven nodded. "Okay. Is it that you don't have any clean ones?"She shook her head."You didn't wear any?" He said softly. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Her chest hiccuped with another sharp inhale."Okay. That's okay. That's something we can fix," he said, his voice softer now, barely above a whisper.
"You're not in trouble. You're safe. I'm here."Lauren still trembled, but her breathing started to shift—no longer panicked, but heavy. A wave of exhaustion came behind the panic. She collapsed, her body leaning into him like she had no more to give.Steven stayed with her, one hand on her back, steady and warm.
"You're not alone," he said. "You don't have to hold this by yourself."

Lauren didn't speak. Her head rested against his chest, damp hair pressed into his shirt. Her fingers gripped the edge of his jacket as if it were a lifeline. He stroked her hair slowly, with no urgency, just presence. Steven looked up at Mick.
"Do you have a shirt and some shorts she can wear?"
"Yeah, I'll get them."
As the room began to return to its earlier rhythm, with quiet murmurs about set lists and weather delays, Joe stood off to the side, arms crossed.He exhaled through his nose, sharp.
"Every time," he muttered.
Steven looked up, eyebrows raised.
Joe shook his head.
"You always find the broken ones, man. Don't forget we're here to play a gig, not rescue strays."
The words hit Steven like gravel. Sharp, familiar.
And he couldn't say Joe was wrong. 

Steven turned his gaze back to Lauren—now dozing lightly against him, her breath finally steady,
still wrapped in his jacket, clinging to the last bit of safety she could find. She wasn't just someone in pain. There was something else. "I didn't find her," he said softly, almost to himself. "She was already here."

He swallowed hard. Joe was trying to protect him — again. From messes. From losing himself. From being the one who always stayed too long trying to fix what wasn't his to fix.
But this didn't feel like rescue.
Like maybe she didn't need saving, just someone who wouldn't leave.
Steven exhaled slowly and adjusted his arm, holding her a little closer."I get it," he said to Joe without looking up. "I really do."Joe rolled his eyes and walked toward the kitchen.
"Just don't let another tragedy become your personal project."
Steven didn't answer. He just pulled his jacket a little tighter around Lauren's shoulders and continued running his fingers gently through her hair.