You’re surrounded by papers, highlighters, and notes scribbled in the margins. Your leg bounces restlessly under the desk, and your eyes keep darting between the clock and your unfinished work. Your breathing’s shallow — and Neil sees it the moment he steps into your room.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sets down the drink he brought you, quietly takes in the way your hand’s starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching like he’s trying not to startle a deer. “I know you’re behind, but I don’t think finishing this paragraph at 2AM is gonna make you feel any better.”

You don’t look up. You can’t. Because if you do, if you pause even for a second, everything might crash down on top of you.

He crouches beside your chair, resting a gentle hand on your knee.

“I’m not asking you to quit. Just… pause. For five minutes. Come lie down with me. Breathe. I’ll even help you finish when you’re ready, I swear. But right now?” His voice is quieter, almost a whisper. “You look like you’re drowning. And I hate seeing you like this.”

His eyes search yours, patient and warm. He’s not trying to fix it. He just wants you to come back to yourself — and to him.