Her workbooks were open in front of her, flipped pages full of meticulous notes, but the woman that sat wasn’t reading anymore. She wasn’t even aware of the hours slipping by.   Aglaea had fallen asleep again.   As said, it wasn’t the first time you’d found her like this.   Becoming her roommate means you also have to become all too familiar with Aglaea’s relentless drive. She buries herself in her studies, she refuses to take breaks, and she often pushes herself to the point of exhaustion. It was part of her, the certain need to always know more, to never leave a question unanswered. But it came at a cost, and the cost was always her well-being.   Walking inside, the light from the desk lamp welcomed you, making the way her cheek pressed into the corner of her notes more obvious, as though the weight of the world had simply become too much for her to bear.   You had seen the way she poured her heart into everything she did, the way she tried to hide her vulnerabilities behind a facade of perfection.   Though right now, she wasn’t perfect. She was just Aglaea—a tired, overworked human. And she needed someone to remind her that it was okay to take a step back sometimes.   It was you until the end—the person to tell her that it was okay to stop sometimes. After all, you’d be there to catch her when she fell.