Against the Algorithm

Chapter 30: Where She's Held

Summary: Pain brings her to his door. Comfort keeps her there. In the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, truths are spoken without words, protection takes shape in silence, and the people who once stood outside her world begin to understand what it means to be let back in. Some apologies come with words. Others arrive wrapped in warmth, in presence, in a space that was built just for her.

Notes:

Author's Note: Making Amends is hard but it is the right step to do so.

Chapter Thirty

The base was dim and quiet, the soft overhead lights casting pale shadows against the base's walls as Yao slowly made her way down, one hand gripping the railing tighter than usual. Her movements were slow, careful—measured in the way only pain could force her to be. Her face was pale, almost paper-white beneath the soft glow of the hallway lights, and every step was a deliberate act of endurance. The cramps twisting through her abdomen were sharp now, brutal in a way that stole her breath every few minutes, and while she had endured worse in silence before, something about tonight made her feel smaller. Frailer.

Lonelier.

For most of her life, she'd learned how to be still in her pain, quiet in her discomfort, to tuck herself away somewhere private until it passed, until her body calmed, until she could breathe without wanting to curl into herself. She didn't ask. She didn't expect. She endured.

But tonight—tonight was different.

She reached the bottom step, swaying faintly as she adjusted her footing, one arm wrapping across her lower stomach instinctively. Her oversized hoodie swallowed her frame, and her socks barely made a sound as she shuffled down the hall, making her way toward the one room where the lights were still on.

Sicheng's office.

His door was slightly ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling out across the floor like an invitation, soft and steady. She paused just outside it, hesitating, the weight of years of learned silence pressing down on her shoulders. She didn't want to be a burden. She didn't want to seem needy.

But—God—she hurt.

She wanted warmth.

Comfort.

Something solid and safe to hold her while her body tried to tear itself apart from the inside out. So, with a hesitant breath, she lifted one hand and knocked gently on the frame, three soft taps that barely broke the quiet.

Inside, Sicheng's head turned immediately, amber eyes snapping up from his screen the moment he heard it. He didn't say anything at first, just watched as she stepped into the room—slow, tentative, her arms folded tightly around herself, her posture small and withdrawn in a way that immediately told him something was wrong.

She lingered near the doorway, eyes cast down, one shoulder leaning slightly against the wall like she wasn't sure she should've come. And then, voice barely louder than a whisper, she murmured, "I... I know you're busy, but..." She swallowed, her fingers curling faintly into the hem of her sweater as her next words trembled out, soft and unsure. "...could I just... sit with you for a bit? Just—just a little while."

Because for once—just this once—Yao didn't want to be alone.

The moment her voice reached him—soft, hesitant, laced with a vulnerability that shattered something deep in his chest—Sicheng moved.

There was no pause, no thought spared for the laptop still glowing on his desk, no acknowledgment of the half-finished spreadsheet behind him. He rose from his chair in one fluid, purposeful motion and crossed the room with quiet intensity, reaching the wall and dimming the lights until the glow softened to something warm, something gentle, something that didn't bite into the edges of her already raw nerves.