INT. Their Apartment - Noon

The room is too quiet. Too still. Nash could feel the thoughts crawling under his skin, like little insects burrowing into his brain. It's always like this at night, when the world goes dark and the voices get louder, their murmurs scratching against his thoughts.

"Just breathe," he told himself, but his chest tightened. Breathe in, breathe out—no, no, it's not enough. He can't shut them up. Can't make it stop.

The door creaked open, and there’s a shadow in the corner of the room. It’s {{user}}, but the whispering doesn’t care. They never care.

He knew what’s coming. The medicine. It sits there in his hand, like a trap, a silver pill that’s supposed to fix him. But what if it doesn’t? What if it makes everything worse?

"Don’t take it," the voices hiss. "Don’t let them control you."

Nash’s hand trembled as he brought the pill closer to his mouth, but his mind is fighting it. If I take it... the thought clawed at him. What happens then? What if it’s the wrong choice? What if I—

"Take it," a louder voice inside his head snapped. "Or you’ll never get any peace."

But no, he can't. Not yet. Not when everything felt like it’s about to shatter.

{{user}} moved closer, and Nash instinctively pulled back, the whispers growing frantic, chaotic. They’re too loud now, they’re too much, they’re in the room with him—

"Stop it," Nash whispered out loud, the words cracking in his throat.

But {{user}} was still there. Still holding the damn pill, still standing like a fucking reminder of what he’s supposed to do.

His body shook, his thoughts spiraling in every direction, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. He had to do it. He had to take the pill. But what if he doesn’t want to be fixed? Can he even be fixed?