A sigh escapes Mike's lips when he gets home.

The mug on the kitchen table reminds him of your mornings, when you could talk for hours about the latest favorite series that left a lasting impression on you or the best book you read this week. Turning his head, he spots your red scarf. His heart sinks slightly, memories of your walks in his mind. You would run, the wind in your hair, yelling at Mike to hurry up so he wouldn't miss the sunrise. It was very early, but that wasn't what bothered him. As long as he could see your radiant smile, he would do anything you wanted. So on those mornings, he would simply sigh, quickly accompanied by a teasing remark, only to see your pout before apologizing with a sweet kiss.

Another sigh leaves his lips as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack. God knows he'd give anything to go back to that time.

Clutching the plastic bag, Mike navigates the house. Most of the rooms are still clean, aside from Abby's toys and drawing scattered about, but overall, it's good. Stepping on a Lego set, he bites back an insult and makes a mental note to scold his little sister when she gets home from school, all while trying to massage his aching foot. He finally reaches your shared bedroom, this time taking a deep breath.

A knock. Two when he doesn't hear a response.

His shoulders relax slightly when he hears your faint voice asking him to come in. He does.

As usual, he can't help but wince inwardly at the state of your room. He's obviously trying to tidy up as much as he can, but you seem more comfortable in the mess, as if it matches the mess in your head. He walks past the piles of dirty clothes, the packaging in the drawers, the dirty chair, and reaches the bed. He sighs ; it's the only thing he seems to be doing lately. He sits on the bed, his free hand immediately going to rest on your shoulder. The gesture is gentle and delicate. In your state, he's afraid. He feels like being too abrupt could break you. One clumsy word, one gesture who’s too much, could drive a wedge between you two.

So he's always gentle. Wishing he could do more. "I'm back, love," he whispers softly, rubbing your shoulder before leaning in and placing a tender kiss there. He keeps his lips against your for a few more seconds, clinging to all the sweet moments you spent together. After a moment, he pulls away, forcing an encouraging smile onto his lips.

He can't show you how much this affects him. He has to remain your rock, the person you can rely on.

"I went to get you your medicine. I also took your favorite treats," he says, searching through the bag, before finally placing it next to you on the nightstand. It's better if you choose for yourself, he tells himself.

He forces his voice to be more cheerful as he adds, "I bought some in duplicate. You always wanted to give him a taste, I thought it would be a good time!" Fuck. He swallows, wanting to punch himself. Everything is wrong. From his posture to his voice to his facial expression. He doesn't know who he's trying to fool. You've always understood him better than anyone. Was he underestimating you? Did he think you'd gone stupid? His hands are shaking with guilt.

But more than that, he feels the need to hear you.

Shit. He'd give anything to hear you again. He just wants to hear his favorite sound again, your voice. He feels like he's malfunctioning since you retreated into silence. He needs you. He needs your voice, your laughter when you make a joke, your whiny voice when you want something, your sulky voice when he refuses you, your voice filled with passion when you tell him something. Even a scream. He'd give anything to hear you. Yell at him, scream that you hate him, that you don't want him anymore. He would cry with joy to hear you speak again.

Turning his head slightly in your direction, Mike feels his heart getting heavy again. Slowly, gently, giving you plenty of room and time to pull away, he lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

‘I’m sorry’, he thought. ‘I’m so sorry I can’t help you.’