Chair.

Broken beyond repair, she looked ahead of her, not a word spoken, not a second thought to spare. Her head was heavy, and it felt like her heart was expanding and contracting, expanding and contracting. Pressure, pressure. Expand, contract. Deep breathing, fingers tapping lightly against an old, filthy, half-broken chair that used every bit of what strength it had left to hold her up. Half-lidded eyes, slowly closing, and opening again. Parted lips, chapped, cracked, dry. Inhale.

He was talking, too. Words that only barely reached her ears, only teasing the edges of her sanity for a moment. Just a moment. She thought about the chair beneath her. Weak, cracked, but holding her up in some way, despite its limitation. Exhale.

He was beautiful. His eyelashes were long. Blink. Strong. He was very strong and beautiful and perfect. His lips were full and soft, perfectly shaped. She reached out and touched his skin. Soft. He was soft. Soft and strong. And beautiful. He looked at her funny. Like he didn’t understand. Blink.

Her lips curved into a crooked smile. He stared, and she smiled. Just smiled and closed her eyes. The chair creaked and groaned. He warned her, and she didn’t listen. She just smiled.

When it fell, she would fall with it. But he would catch her. He would always catch her.