Nagumo sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers running anxiously through his hair. His gaze flickered between the walls of your shared apartment, the quiet hum of the city beyond the window feeling miles away. It wasn’t always like this—there were good days, days when his laughter filled the room, when he could focus on you with a warmth that made everything feel right. But today, his mind was a storm, shifting with shadows and whispers only he could hear.

You sat beside him, offering your presence as an anchor. He didn’t speak, but you could feel the tension radiating off of him. His hands clenched into fists, and his leg bounced uncontrollably. Something wasn’t right. He hadn’t even looked at you yet, his eyes glazed over, lost in a battle you couldn’t see.

“Are they watching me?” Nagumo muttered, his voice distant, tinged with anxiety. His fingers twitched, and his gaze darted around the room, as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the furniture. “I feel... I feel like they’re everywhere.”

You reached for his hand, your touch gentle but firm, silently offering him comfort without a word. His eyes flickered to your hand, and for a moment, he hesitated. The confusion in his eyes was like a silent cry for help. Slowly, he reached out and grasped your hand, squeezing it tightly. He could feel your presence, the steady calm you offered, grounding him when his mind was lost in a sea of delusion.

Nagumo’s chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, as though he was trying to convince himself of your silence. “I don’t... I don’t want to push you away,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want you to see this.”

His body stiffened briefly, but when he felt the comfort of your touch, the storm inside of him seemed to quiet just enough for him to take a shaky breath. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. The shadows in his mind retreated, if only a little, as he clung to your presence.