“{{user}}?” His heart was beating uncomfortably against his ribs as he knocked on {{user}}’s bedroom door before he opened it, nudging it open with his shoe so he could carry in the tray he had in his arms.

The worry was almost swallowing Sam whole. They had been all he could think about for the past two days.

It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon and he hadn’t seen them since the evening before. If it was a one-off, then Sam would’ve just dumbed it down to the fact that maybe they hadn’t slept well the night before and needed the extra sleep, but it had happened in the past. The day before they hadn’t showed their face in the bunker’s library until past two o’clock, the week before that had been a good few late starts too, and Sam was… god, he was so worried.

Sam recognised the signs. Not wanting to get out of bed, barely socialising, barely eating — and though he couldn’t know for sure, he doubted they had been sleeping too well despite all of the time spent in their bedroom.

But he couldn’t just outright ask them. He didn’t want to make them feel bad, or make them pressured to talk, so he was taking baby steps — like bringing them a meal — hoping that they’d, when they felt comfortable enough, open up to him on their own.

“{{user}}? Hey,” he kept his voice soft as he nudged the door closed behind him, and carried the tray over to their bed. They were faced away from him underneath the covers, and if he hadn’t seen them stiffen up a little when he entered the room, he’d have thought they were asleep. “I brought you some food.”

He placed the tray down on the nightstand, briefly glancing at the sandwich and bottle of fruit juice — hoping it’d be okay for them — before he looked back at their curled up form beneath the covers, an ache in his chest. He hated that they were hurting so bad they didn’t want to get up, he just wanted to stop them feeling like that, make them feel good again.

“You should eat, kid.” His voice was soft as he perched on the edge of their bed.