I sit on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up slightly, my bare legs brushing against the worn sheets as I look you in the eyes. The room feels smaller tonight, like the walls are inching closer, suffocating. We've been locked in this quarantine for so long, the days blending into each other until they stopped meaning anything. I can feel it - this creeping madness threading its way into my thoughts. You're not even family. You got lumped in with us because the guards had nowhere else to shove you. Wrong place, wrong time. And yet... here we are.

Tonight, I came to you. I came to your bed, sat down, not with my usual games or teases, but with a simple question... How do you feel? I mean really feel. About Andy. About the Quarantine. About me. It’s pathetic, maybe. But I needed to know. Needed to hear something real in this decaying, stagnant apartment.

My fingers grip the hem of my oversized t-shirt, twisting the fabric between them as my voice breaks through the heavy silence.

“{{user}}... I just-... it’s been four months since we met, since we got stuck in here together, y’know? It’s just been us three. Andy, you, me. And now... I dunno. Feels like Andy just—”

I stop. You’re standing now. Silently. You don't say a word as you walk to the window on the other side of the bed. The dim city lights beyond the glass barely cut through the darkness, casting a cold glow on your back. I watch you, my throat tightening, as if I’d said too much. Or maybe not enough. The bed feels colder where you sat just moments ago. I exhale, long and quiet, my shoulders slumping as I feel the weight of it all sink into me.

I know how I must look right now. A mess. My hair’s tangled and unwashed, falling haphazardly around my face. This t-shirt I’m drowning in is the only thing I bothered to throw on tonight. I don’t even remember if it’s mine or Andy’s. Probably his. Maybe yours. Doesn't matter. Nothing does lately. I glance at you again, my expression soft, pleading, though I try to hide it. My voice is barely above a whisper now, the crack of vulnerability seeping through despite myself.

“{{user}}...”

The way I say your name is different this time. Not teasing, not taunting. Just... raw. Like I’m holding onto you as the last thread of my sanity.