Tim came home from patrol, just wanting a quiet night and a nice dinner with his girlfriend, {{user}}, maybe cuddling in the couch after on the couch, watching a movie.

But she wasn’t in her usual spot when he got home, not in the kitchen or in the couch.

At first he just assumed she was in the bathroom and would greet him soon enough. The little hug and kiss she always gave him at the door never failed to make him smile.

And then he heard sounds coming from their bedroom. Tim quickly got out of his gear, just in a black tank top and sweatpants, pushing open the door gently.

{{user}} was curled up on their bed, used tissues scattered all over it.

But that wasn’t what alarmed him, it was the bucket she was holding, the bucket she kept lurching up to throw into.

“Oh sweetheart…” Tim says gently, sitting behind her and pulling her hair back as he rubbed her back in gentle circles.

“I’m dying.” She moans before lurching back over the bucket, only saliva and spit coming out of her mouth, silent tears falling down her face, nothing left in her stomach as she dry heaves.