HBC + character One Shots!

- Marla Singer | 'Coping' p2

First off I wanted to thank you all for 8k reads!? Like how crazy is that!? It's amazing how incredible you all are, and from the bottom of my heart, thank you <3

Now onto the part 2 of the Non-binary POV

Let's get into it!
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-"I'll stay.."

The words muffled into the crook of my neck, blended with her tears. I tried my best to comfort her, though I have never been good at that. I've always learned to not show emotion while in the presence of other people, so the same went for them around me.

"Let's get inside, I'll make us some tea, hmm?"

She leaned back and looked at the stains her mascara had created on my shirt. Her fingers brushing over them slowly while regaining her solid persona.

My hand took hers softly, beginning to walk my way back up the stairs backwards. I tried my best to not fall while walking, keeping the eye contact for I wanted her to feel safe with me. She looked down a my hand and then up to my eyes, choosing to only nod as an answer.

We slowly walked back up the stairs, though at one step I accidentally misstepped and began to fall backwards. Everything stopped, her hand under my waist, the other under my thigh to stop me from hitting the ground.

A small dent was all I could feel when we landed, her body touching mine gracefully. Suddenly, there was not sadness in her eyes, they looked more panicked, as someone who had just let everything go and was waiting for results.

"Falling already?"

The tone came off as mocking which I found odd in this situation. I merely nodded before trying to steady myself, her hand still clutching my waist as we stood outside my front door.

"All good..."

I wasn't, not even close. It shocked me how my perception of her could've changed so much in such a small period of time. Just a few seconds ago she was hugging me tightly, crying her eyes out over how unfair this world is.

But now, she's the one looking at me as if our position were switched. One of my hands reached for the handle on the door, though my eyes never left hers. Carefully we walked into the building, closing the door behind us.

Her coat almost seemed to hang itself when we stood in the hall, the speed made it seem like she felt safe. We continued through the hall to the living room, the reality of the situation started to hit me.

"I'm sorry for the mess.."

The living room had papers scattered over the whole table some boxes in the corner and a few water glasses here and there. She turned around and looked at me like I was laying some joke on her.

"You call this a mess? You should see my cave.."

Though I found it quite sad that she'd refer to her cave as 'a mess' I couldn't help but smile when she began laughing a little I wonder what she meant so I asked her.

"Could you elaborate on that?.. sorry it's a stupid question, you don't hav-"

"My cave is a mess, inside and out. The walls are covered with pages of newspapers, like if they'd been carefully glued there. On the ground lay jackets, jeans and small letters from people I make up, anyone that would listen to me. They form a small passageway so that I can get to the center where I finally find my chair, my safe spot. A chair bound in leather with a night stand next to it. I always imagine the nightstand with a few books laying on it, but I don't even read, that's how messy it is! The fact that I make up things, not only about others, but also myself."