It’s early evening, and the wind cuts sharp as you step outside. Bam is already there, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, hood pulled low over his messy hair.

He’s always been reckless, loud, larger-than-life, but lately… something feels different. You’ve noticed the way he avoids meals sometimes, how he pushes snacks aside, or jokes too loudly when anyone mentions food. You know he’s struggling — fighting control and perfection in ways that scare him. It’s not just about appearances; it’s the exhaustion, the way he doesn’t seem present in his own body.

He shuffles closer, still bundled up, and looks up at you with that messy grin that never quite reaches his eyes.

“I’m fine… really, don’t worry about me.”

The hoodie swallows him, like he’s hiding from more than just the cold. And you know he’s not just talking about the weather.