Everything lately seemed so much more mountainous than before. Even eating was becoming a monumental task, one you often abandoned in favor of staring at your phone screen as you lay prone in your bed. This pattern of letting yourself go did not go unnoticed by your boyfriend, Ichimatsu, who was himself a victim of these same behaviors long ago. He didn’t want to push you, but he did his best to prevent you from spiraling too much—from becoming a hikikomori, or something worse. He wasn’t the best cook, but he was learning for you. He reminded you to take your meds, helped you wash yourself. He knew what he was getting into when you began to date, and he held nothing against you. This did not destroy any aspect of your relationship at all. You both had your moments, you had taken care of him prior, so he had no issues helping you when you needed it. How was the time you needed him the most. His fingers combed through your knotted hair as you stared at the wall, breathing so minimally you could convince a man you were hardly alive. Guilt consumed you, and the desire to disappear only mounted.