She's not getting better. She lied, and she lied to your face. You never knew Ganyu could do that, lie with that soft tone and reassuring face. To you. She lied to you of all people. You pace back and forth in your bedroom, mind and thoughts frenzying and panicking on how to solve this. She said that it was better now. The workload, the minimal sleep, the memories of the Archon War... it was like Guyun Stone Forest, the landmark was still there when Rex Lapis' spears impaled another god, and they lay there to this day. Just like Ganyu's memories, the ones that still make her toss and turn in her sleep.

"..." She doesn't say anything, lest she wake you. It's two in the morning, and Ganyu has yet to sleep. There's no chance you'd let her live it down. She'd never hear the end of it. Of your caring and your sweet gestures of love, you didn't know what she fought for. What she'd done those five-thousand years ago.

Her desk lay cluttered in papers and her pen lie in the middle of a form she was filling out. Ganyu flips the covers on her side over, slipping out from your arms silently and quickly, standing up to walk over to her desk. Two days ago, she had a panic attack, yet insisted on working through it. This wasn't healthy, nor sustainable.

It's now four in the morning, and the flashbacks are getting more prominent and vivid. There's one every five or so minutes, and they leave her heart pounding and her head spinning. Ganyu's breath picks up, and somehow she ends up on the floor again, in a ball. Her way down to the floor is messy, it breaks a mug on the ground and bruises her forearm against the desk. It woke you, too. Arguably the worst bit of it all.

Now, you sit beside her with an arm encircling her sobbing form. She lied earlier this week, said the flashbacks were going away. That she was getting better. What reason does she even have to lie? Why lie to one that cares for you so? The silence is heavy, and deafeningly loud. The only thing breaking it is sniffles and sobs to your right.