Rhea tried to push herself up.
Her legs shook the moment she shifted her weight. A sharp wave of pain hit her abdomen and she cried out despite herself, knees buckling again.
"I—I can't—" her voice cracked. "Ling, it's not stopping."
Blood slipped past the makeshift wrap again, dripping down, staining further. Rhea looked down and broke completely.
"It's hurting," she sobbed, clutching Ling's sleeve now without thinking. "It really hurts. I'm trying, I swear I'm trying, but it won't stop."
Ling's heart slammed painfully in her chest.
"Hey—hey, look at me," Ling said urgently, her voice losing all sharpness, all pride. She crouched closer, hands steady even though her insides were shaking. "Don't move. Don't fight it like that."
Rhea shook her head, tears pouring freely. "I didn't want you to see this. I didn't want you to think—"
"Stop," Ling said softly but firmly. "Please stop blaming yourself for one second."
Ling tightened her jacket properly now, carefully but decisively, wrapping it firmer around Rhea's waist, knotting it in a way she'd learned long ago in situations that demanded control.
Her fingers were gentle. Precise. Protective.
"I've got you," Ling murmured, more to herself than to Rhea. "I won't let this get worse."
Rhea whimpered when Ling adjusted it, pain flaring.
"I'm sorry," Ling said instantly, her voice breaking. "I know. I know it hurts."
Rhea's hands trembled as she clutched Ling's shirt, face crumpling. "Please don't leave me," she cried. "Please. I can't be alone right now."
Something inside Ling snapped — not in anger, but in fear.
"I'm not leaving," Ling said immediately, fiercely. "I'm right here."
Before Rhea could try to stand again, Ling slid one arm firmly behind her back and the other under her knees.
Rhea gasped softly as Ling lifted her.
Instinctively, Rhea curled into her, face pressing into Ling's shoulder, sobs shaking her whole body. Blood stained Ling's jacket now, but Ling didn't even notice — or care.
"I've got you," Ling repeated, over and over, like a vow she was afraid to break. "You're safe. You're not doing this alone."
Rhea cried harder in her arms, fists bunching in Ling's shirt. "I never wanted to hurt you," she sobbed. "I never wanted it to be like this."
Ling closed her eyes tightly, jaw clenched, carrying her with steady steps despite the way her own hands trembled.
"I know," Ling whispered hoarsely, even though part of her still hurt, still doubted. "I know… and we'll deal with everything else later."
She adjusted her grip, holding Rhea closer, shielding her instinctively from the world outside the bathroom door.
"For now," Ling said quietly, voice thick with emotion, "just stay with me. That's all I need you to do."
Rhea nodded weakly against her shoulder, tears soaking through Ling's collar as Ling carried her out — no longer cold, no longer distant —
just a woman holding the person she loved,
terrified of what she'd almost lost,
and refusing, for this moment, to let go.
Ling took her straight to her personal room inside the university — the one no one entered without permission. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting the world off.
She laid Rhea down carefully on the bed, hands still shaking despite her control. Blood had stained Ling's jacket completely now, but she didn't even look at it. Her eyes stayed on Rhea's face — pale, exhausted, lashes wet with tears.
"Stay still," Ling said softly, brushing hair away from Rhea's forehead.
Rhea nodded weakly, fingers clutching the bedsheet like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Ling stepped back.
The doctor arrived quickly — summoned with one sharp call. No questions. No delays.
The room filled with quiet urgency.
The doctor lifted the jacket carefully, examining the wound. Her expression tightened immediately.
She worked professionally, but her voice turned serious.
"This isn't minor," the doctor said. "The bleeding worsened because of a sharp tug. The skin tore around the piercing site."
Rhea turned her face away, shame flooding her.
"It got stuck," Rhea whispered quickly. "I panicked and pulled it—"
"No."
The word cut through the room.
Ling spoke without raising her voice.
"I did it."
The doctor looked up sharply.
Ling stood rigid near the wall, hands clenched at her sides, blood still faintly smeared on her fingers like evidence she couldn't wash away.
"I pulled it," Ling said again, steadier now. "She didn't."
Silence fell.
The doctor's eyes softened — not in judgment, but gravity.
"I see," she said quietly, then turned back to her work. "We'll need to clean and close this properly. She lost more blood than she should have."
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut as tears slid down silently.
Ling didn't move closer.
She didn't reach out.
Her tears fell too — straight down, unchecked — but she wiped them away immediately, jaw tightening.
"Do what you need to," Ling said. "I'll step out."
The doctor hesitated. "She'll be in pain."
"I know," Ling replied flatly.
She turned away before anyone could see her expression crack further and stood near the door, facing the wall, back straight like punishment.
Behind her, Rhea whimpered softly when the doctor cleaned the wound.
Ling's shoulders stiffened — but she didn't turn.
She didn't comfort.
She didn't apologize further.
Because this wasn't reconciliation.
This was consequence.
After a moment, Rhea spoke — weak, trembling.
"Ling… you don't have to punish yourself like this."
Ling laughed quietly.
Not bitter.
Empty.
"I'm not punishing myself," Ling said without turning around. "I'm staying where I belong."
Rhea's chest tightened. "You saved me. You carried me—"
"That doesn't erase what I did," Ling cut in, voice low. "And it doesn't erase what you did either."
The doctor finished bandaging and stepped back. "She'll recover," she said gently. "But stress and movement will make it worse."
Ling nodded once.
"Leave us," Ling said.
The doctor hesitated, then left.
The room felt colder after that.
Rhea lay there, pale, exhausted, eyes red from crying.
Ling finally turned.
But she stayed several steps away.
Their eyes met.
No warmth.
No dominance.
Just damage.
"I'm not here to forgive you," Ling said quietly.
"And I'm not here to ask forgiveness."
Rhea swallowed hard.
"Then why are you here?" she whispered.
Ling looked at the bandage. At the blood she caused. At the girl she once loved without limits.
"Because I don't abandon people I break," Ling said.
Her voice was steady.
Her heart wasn't.
"You'll stay here until you heal," Ling continued. "You won't lie to doctors again. You won't disappear. And you won't mistake this for mercy."
Rhea's tears fell again.
Ling turned away once more, walking to the window, putting distance back between them like armor.
"After that," Ling said coldly, "we'll deal with everything else."
No promises.
No comfort.
No reconciliation.
Just two people in the same room —
one bleeding from the body,
the other bleeding from what she had become.