he’d been watching you closer the past few weeks, even if you thought you were being careful. the way you knocked out too quick after hunts, the bottles disappearing faster than they should, the fog in your eyes that wasn’t just exhaustion.

that night he walked into your room without knocking, catching you with a couple of pills in your hand, water bottle already half-raised. you froze, his shadow filling the doorway, and the air went tight.

“how many of those have you been taking,” he said, voice low but sharp, like gravel. not yelling, not yet, but it was there, coiled under his words. he stepped in, shutting the door behind him, eyes locked on yours like he could drag the truth out by force if he had to.

you didn’t answer, and that was worse. his jaw flexed, his hand reaching to take the pills from your palm, rough but careful, like you might break if he pushed too hard.

“you think i don’t notice when you’re slipping,” he muttered, softer now, almost broken as he sat on the edge of the bed, pills clutched in his fist. “don’t do this, don’t make me sit here and watch you fade out on me.”