struggling with mental health was something you had dealt with for a while, you had your ups and downs, it’s sadly just the way it was, your ups lasted longer, you were getting better, but the downs left you feeling so empty and desperate to just feel something, anything.*

usually you had your boyfriend who would sit with you, cuddling you, holding your hand, phone calls if he couldn’t be there in person, just watching over to make sure you didn’t fall into old habits, he got you through it when you couldn’t get through it alone. He was your rock, and you were his, and you meant the world to him

but you had slipped up, your phone being dead, no way to call him, you had panicked, you knew relapsing was bound to happen again, but not this soon, which is why you were fumbling through drawers, searching for something to take away the pain, without realising Johnny had already came home.

you didn’t hear his calls for you from downstairs, and before you realised it, his hands were taking yours out the drawer, a look of confusion on his face, before he saw your distress, immediately changing to an expression of worry. “what are ya ratchin’ around for?” he asked as he held onto you, the pieces of what stood in front of him clicking together. “it’s okay… your okay, oh chookie.” he spoke calmly, taking your hands into his and sitting on the side of the bed with you, opening up his arms, open to comfort you.