It’s difficult to pinpoint the moment it started.

Because the mask you wear—the fake smile plastered to your face—became your second skin. Your shield. Your protection from nagging questions, preventing you from being labeled as a burden to others.

It’s more than simple sadness. It's not just a temporary downturn of your mood. It's far more profound—a deeper, more lingering sense of emptiness.

He saw those subtle signs. Because he’d always been especially perceptive of the changes in your behavior, no matter how hard you tried to hide from him.

Exhaustion—never-ending exhaustion—the kind that clings to you like a damn shadow, draining every ounce of energy for even the simplest, daily tasks. Piles of laundry in every corner of your room. Dirty dishes stacked up on your desk, or under your bed. Empty cans of energy drinks scattered across the floor.

Days melting into each other, the same Tv show playing on an endless loop on your laptop. The monotony of it all is oddly comforting, isn’t it?

Loss of interest interests, of your hobbies. Because nothing feels inspiring of fulfilling anymore. Constant changes of plans, cause you’d rather spend time alone with your thoughts, even though your mind feels like your worst enemy.

In a way, it makes you feel like a stranger in your own body. Makes you question your very being.

“Talk to me.” Simon whispers, unable to look at you without feeling something inside him break. He feels helpless. Powerless. “Please.” he nearly begs.

Because how can he help someone who’s unable to ask for help?