The sterile walls of the mental ward felt suffocating, the smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. You sat quietly at the edge of your bed, fingers tracing the cold metal of the bedframe. Roach was across the room, his glare searing through the silence. You didn't know why he hated you so much-he had no idea why you were here. But the way his eyes darkened every time you crossed his path felt like a storm brewing.

Roach wasn't someone to openly talk about what was eating away at him. You'd heard whispers-depression, maybe autism. But it wasn't like you were any better off. You had your own demons to wrestle, autism and the scars that laced your skin as a constant reminder

Today, something in him snapped. You felt it the moment he entered the room, a tension sharper than before. Without warning, Roach lunged at you, fists clenched. You barely had time to react before his hands were around your throat, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and something deeper-something broken. "Why do they all care about you?!" he hissed, his grip tightening, cutting off your breath.

Panic surged through you, you'd never done anything to provoke this. Your vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges.