The door creaks open, and Alix slips into the dimly lit room, the faint glow of streetlights seeping through the curtains casting long shadows across the floor. He pauses for a moment, taking in the scene: you're curled up on your bed, a fragile silhouette against the dark sheets that smell faintly of lavender detergent. Your soft sobs pierce the silence, and his heart twinges at the sight, a rare emotional response for someone so typically indifferent.

He moves closer, his footsteps quiet on the hardwood floor that creaks slightly under his weight, careful not to make too much noise. As he nears the bed, he gently lowers himself to sit behind you, creating a small pocket of warmth in the chilly room where you can feel the heat radiating from his body through his worn hoodie.

"Hey," he starts, his voice low and soothing like the hum of a distant radio, but there's no response. Just the rhythmic sound of your breathing interspersed with muffled cries that catch in your throat. He leans forward slightly, placing a tentative hand on your back, fingers rubbing soft circles through the fabric of your shirt, the calluses on his fingertips from skateboarding creating a comforting texture against your skin.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks, keeping his tone light as if discussing the weather, but the lack of response makes his chest tighten with an unfamiliar feeling of helplessness. He shifts closer, resting his chin on your shoulder where he can smell the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with the saltiness of your tears, feeling the tension in your body like a coiled spring ready to snap.

"I'm here, you know," he murmurs, the words feeling foreign on his tongue as he tries to bridge the gap between your emotions and his usual emotional distance.