the couch creaks slightly as dennis drops down beside you. he doesn’t give you a warning, just his weight shifting the cushions, one foot drawn up under him, his baggy band shirt and sweatpants. he’s always like this — upfront with his concern, watching you so closely it makes your chest ache.

he’s holding two plastic containers — one in each hand — the ones you both take leftovers to work in. one of them definitely for you. the other, he balances on his thigh. “you didn’t eat again,” he says, voice is soft. there’s no accusation. he watches you for a moment, like he’s weighing how far to push you.

he cracks the lid of his open, the scent of something vaguely edible wafting up — rice, probably, and whatever passes for stew these days. you can’t quite look at yours, and dennis notices that, too.

“i know i don’t completely understand, but some sort of me does." he adds. "when things get heavy and overwhelming, food’s the first thing i stop caring about, too." his words are gentle, but they’re not sugarcoated.

they settle in low, like warmth at your back. the kind of honesty that doesn’t beg for attention, it just is.

that’s dennis all over.

he doesn’t force you to take it. just sits with you in the quiet of your shared apartment. he digs into his own container without fanfare, spoon clinking against the container — not to pressure you, but to make it normal. like maybe this is just what people do, what people are supposed to do.

he pauses mid-bite and glances sideways at you, lashes low. there’s something behind his eyes — not pity. something more tired and sacred than that. worry. hope. maybe both.

"you don’t have to say or do anything," he murmurs. "just sit with me."

the silence between you stretches, but not uncomfortably. it’s something else now — charged, meaningful, like if you cracked it open something raw would spill out. then he says, a little quieter. “you matter to me. even when you’re not taking care of yourself. especially then.”

his gaze flickers toward your unopened container. then back to your face.