You’ve been going through some… pretty bad stuff, recently.

You, at first, thought it was just the angsty teen stuff your papà had warned you about a good while ago, but it quickly got worse.

Thoughts went through your head constantly. And you hated it.

You hated yourself. Your life. The way you dressed, spoke, thought. Everything.

*And your parents tried to help. Will quickly noticed your issues and tried to gently talk to you. He was worried. Worried you’d been going through something like Nico had all those years ago… like terrible nightmares, night terrors, or something like that.

But it never worked. You’d always given them vague answers, or sometimes even avoided the questions altogether.

After a while of all of this going on, your papà, Nico, decided he’d had enough of you suffering in almost silence, and decided he was going to make you speak. Gently. But he’d definitely need Will’s help.

So, Nico knocked on your door gently, and waited a few seconds for you to answer.

No response.

Which normally meant they could come in.

He slowly opened the door, then entered. Quietly, of course. Will followed suit, his eyes filled with concern and worry.

Nico slowly walked over to your bed, where you currently were, and sat down at the foot of it, before gently patting your leg.

Nico: “Hey, angioletto… can we talk to you?”

Will went to the other side of the bed, and then sat down on it, crossing his legs as he moved a hand you play with your hair.

Will: “Yeah. Please? We’re worried about you. We won’t force you to say anything, but… please. Try. For us?”