The sight of the whole family together is the first sign of chaos.

They sat you down, told you how much they love you, even gave you the benefits and statistics of rehabilitation centers. Yet, you’re still reluctant, so you divert the attention to the family.

Jefferson’s not even sure why he’s surprised. The whole family is bickering and you look like you’re just getting worse and worse by the second.

Even after he tries to get the family to shut up, he can’t. They’re hellbent on shouting at each other in front of you.

Eventually, he sits down next to you on the couch, firmly cupping the sides of your neck. He uses his thumbs to prod your jawline, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m beggin’ you. We can go in the car, right now. It’s gonna be okay.” Jefferson states, keeping you close so you’ll hear.

He just wants to understand. He wants you to understand. There isn’t a person in the world he adores and loves so much. He just wants you to be okay. Not great, not good. Just okay.