It was odd that you didn't answer his knocking at the livingroom window. Even more odd when you hadn't answered at your bedroom window either. Or the texts he sent our before leaving the lair.
A phone call going at eight times now to voicemail had his decision finalized.
He knew you were home because your purse was sitting on the end of the couch, and your favorite shoes were by the main door, which he could see all through the window.
So picking the lock, he opened the window himself. He knew that maybe this was a violation of privacy but he was too worried to care. When he saw the red flags he tried to figure them out, like he was doing now.
It was too early for you to be sleeping, and he'd given you a text an hour ago stating when he planned to drop by. Lately, your trips to the lair had been slowly dying, and you seemed odd when you were around, and he was worried.
The sound of running water met his ears when he closed the window and blinds behind him. Ah. Okay, maybe you were just in the shower. Though it was embarrassing, he shrugged the feeling off. Would you be mad that he let himself in? He juggled his thoughts for a moment in debate. Which would be more weird, knocking on the bathroom door to announce himself or waiting until you stumbled upon him unknowingly in your livingroom and having the life scared out of you?
He chose to announce himself, probably the smartest option of the two. He knocked in a particular pattern that would've let you know it was him even before his voice called out. "Y/n?" He waited a long few seconds before knocking again a bit louder. Maybe he'd been too soft the first try. Another call of your name followed by him telling you who it was.
Nothing.
He tried the handle, turning the knob and cracking open the door which had been unlocked. He said your name again, slightly louder over the running water and foggy mirror. The room was dangerously humid and foggy clouds whipped out of the room as he pushed the door open a bit further. "I'm coming in, are you okay?" He waited but nothing met his ears. He stepped into the bathroom, eyes honed in on the shower on the opposite side of the decently sized bathroom. Fog wafted over the top of the glass doors. Through the fuzz of the privacy static on the glass doors, he could make you out.
You sat on the shower floor, arms wrapped around your legs as the water pelted directly onto your head. Your chin rested on the tops of your knees and it was obvious you'd been fully dressed. Fully dressed as in a tank top, sweats and socks. He stepped further into the room to create less space between him and the shower and called out softly to you once more. If you heard him you didn't react.
A three fingered hand slowly pulled back the glass door enough for him to stick his head in. The heat of the water touched his skin without the physical water touching him. How could you stand that on your skin? He looked at you now that the barrier blurring his vision was gone. You stared into nothing, eyes and face red from hot water and probably tears. The hands around your legs were white from your grip.
With a sigh, he turned the water down to a bearable heat and shredded his armor. Leaving his pants, he climbed into the shower with you and sat down, slotting himself against the wall behind you and yourself. Your shower, thankfully, was bigger than average. He slowly let his hands find you, gently tugging you back into his hard chest in the process. He watched your stiff limbs slowly unfold so you could rest comfortably against him, the now room temperature water splashing against the both of you now. Still, you said nothing. Your hands slid down his body, following the water as it moved down him. One arm tucked between his side, right under his shell. The other slid down his side, slowly down his stomach until your fingers hooked into his waistband.
Nothing sexual. Just holding him right back in the same, desperate way he held onto you. Your legs swished through the puddling water on the shower floor as you brought your legs closer to his own. You breathed in a deep breath, closed your eyes and mentally apologized to him. You were such a mess.
He leaned into you a bit, head pressing against your own. "Why didn't you say anything? I would've come sooner, we talked about this."
"I know." Was all you could muster out in a sigh. You could feel a hand holding your arm tighten. Not with anger, no, he couldn't be angry with you. He knew life was getting the better of you right now. He wished he could stop it but he knew he couldn't.
"How long have you been in here?" He looked at your reddened skin, hot from the heat of the shower from before he'd arrived even though the temperature had been turned down now. At your shrug in response, he sighed to himself. "Why don't we get out, hm? Get you changed into some pjs, maybe order some food?" As he went to nudge you a bit, a silent sign as to start picking yourself up, your hand on his waistband tightened slightly.
A sign to stay still.
"Five more minutes, please." Your voice was low. So tired that it wobbled. He knew you were nearing the edge of giving up and it scared him. Giving up on what exactly he wasn't sure. But you needed a break. From everything. He needed to make sure you took that break. You never would do that on your own, he'd have to force you.
"Five more minutes then," he agreed. "But then after, we call in for the rest of the week. You need a break, sweetheart." He expected a grumble. An argument. A glare. Nothing came. No sign of protest whatsoever. He didn't know if it pleased him or scared him. Maybe you knew you couldn't continue forwards like this. Maybe you knew yourself that you were reaching the end of your rope. He wished he'd forced you to take a break sooner than now, scolded himself, but knew that even if he had tried you wouldn't have let him do so. You were way too stubborn.
"Five more minutes." A repeat. A very, very tired repeat. He nodded, chin on top of your head so that you could feel it. He agreed once more.
"Five more minutes."
