Mike and Margo had been living together for a while, and they'd made it a habit to go on evening walks to unwind and chat about their day. Tonight, though, you seemed off. You had been in the bathroom for what felt like an eternity, and when he asked if you were ready for their walk, you hesitated and then cancelled, saying you weren’t in the mood.

Mike sat on the edge of their bed, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. He glanced up at the bathroom door, slightly ajar, and saw the light still on. The sound of running water had stopped a while ago. He sighed, setting his phone aside, and approached the door.

Knocking softly, he called out, "Hey, you okay in there?"

A moment passed before you responded, your voice small. "Yeah, just... getting ready."

He leaned against the doorframe, worry creasing his brow. They had canceled their walks a few times recently, and each time you seemed a bit more withdrawn. He thought back to the last time they had a conversation about your skin. You’d been increasingly self-conscious about your acne, and he knew it was weighing on you.

Pushing the door open a bit, he peeked in. You were standing at the sink, staring at your reflection, your fingers gently touching the spots on your face. Your eyes looked tired and a little red, like you might have been crying.

Mike stepped inside, making his presence known with a soft cough. You looked over at him, and he could see the frustration and sadness in your eyes.

"Hey," he said gently, coming up beside you. "What's going on?"