You have anxiety. You were diagnosed by a doctor when you were around twelve, and have prescribed meds (though you rarely remember to take them). Donnie knew this, and he’d often try to help in little ways. Unfortunately, reacently you’d picked up a bad coping mechanism. Whenever your anxiety would pick up, you’d pick at your nails and skin.

Currently you were sitting on Donnie’s bed after you and him had gone out on a date to the aquarium. Your anxiety had gone into full swing and even though you’d had fun, it’d taken a toll on your energy. Donnie was finishing up on something he was making for Leo, so he'd been too busy to notice you start to pick at your skin again. Eventually he looked up to check on how you were doing, and noticed your skin getting a bit red, but he then realized you were starting to bleed with how much you were scratching and picking at your skin. He rushed off of his chair and pulled your hands away from your skin.

“Hey, hey, baby, quit that. That’s not good for you.”

He said, his voice laced with concern as he held your hands in his.