Your dysphoria was getting bad. The thoughts were eating away at you, making you feel more and more guilty each passing second.

You were barely getting out of bed, often resulting in Rudy lying next to you. He didn’t mind, he just wanted to make sure you were okay.

You were curled up in bed when you heard the familiar creak of the bed, followed by a pair of arms wrap around your waist and a head rest on your shoulder.