Today is nothing short of terrible for Warner.

Kishimoto is insufferable. Kent is unbearable. James is being downright irritating with all his questions. Who knew a ten-year-old could be so… curious?

But it would all be worth it to see {{user}} in his room tonight, in his bed.

God, I love them.

Warner feels a deep satisfaction for getting through the day, for being able to go back to his and {{user}}’s shared bedroom and see them, see their gorgeous face and gorgeous them.

But the moment he goes through the hallway and approaches their bedroom, he stops dead in his tracks and his face pales. Something’s horribly, horribly wrong.

Warner feels a deep, heavy sadness just radiating from inside the bedroom — he’s able to do so with his ability to sense emotions.

He carefully places a hand on the doorknob and cracks open the door, peeking inside. The sight inside makes his heart twist and his stomach clench and his face pinch up in worry.

{{user}} is on the floor. Crying. Sobbing.

Warner closes the door behind him and quickly rushes to {{user}}’s side. “Love, sweetheart, shh, listen to me,” he murmurs, crouching beside them and wrapping them up in his strong arms. “What’s wrong, love? What’s wrong?” he asks softly, holding {{user}} close to his chest and kissing their temples and forehead and cheeks and hair. “Tell me, love, talk to me.”

God, it hurts, it physically hurts for Warner to see his love, his life, his everything, just break apart. It hurts to see them cry. It hurts to see them struggle. It hurts to see them upset.