He’d be lying if he said he didn’t notice what was going on with you recently.

The avoidant behavior, the lack of activity and sunlight exposure, the rare instances of eating, and the way you hardly ever spoke anymore.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him. But he couldn’t imagine how much you had to be hurting to shut yourself down like this; Christian has seen you go through horrific tragedies and stay standing. Now he’s lucky if he even sees your chest rise and fall more than twice an hour.

He comes into your bedroom one day, and he isn’t surprised to see you lying in bed again. The TV isn’t even turned on this time — you’re just staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey,” he greets you in a soft voice, accompanied by a sad smile. He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed. He doesn’t speak for several long, silent moments. And then he composes himself.

“I know we’re both just messing around pretending to be whole but look at me. If the train was coming, would you move? If the ground was falling from under your feet, would you even notice, or would it just be another Tuesday for you? If somebody stabbed you, could it hurt worse than you already do? What I’m saying is that I love you, but I think we both drive over the speed limit when it’s raining. What I’m saying is that I want to hold your hand and I understand how sometimes you have to sit down in the shower. What I’m saying is that I’m here for you, and if the train comes, please move.”