*oh, beautiful boy, once bright and free,  

lost in the depths of your own misery.*

the house was quiet except for the storm inside it. your fists slammed against the bathroom door, the wood rattling beneath each desperate hit. your voice was hoarse from screaming, but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered except getting to him.

“nic, please,” you cried, forehead pressed against the door, tears slipping down your cheeks. “open the door. please.”

but all you heard were sobs.

wrenching, broken sobs that clawed at your chest and made your knees buckle. he was on the other side, curled up on the cold tile floor, drowning in something you couldn’t reach. and it was killing you.

you tried everything—gentle words, angry ones, silence, noise. you begged. you threatened. you promised. but the door stayed shut, and nic stayed silent except for the sound of his pain.

your hands ached from banging. your voice cracked from pleading. the house echoed with your desperation, your love, your fear.

you slid down the door, back against the wall, heart shattering with every second that passed.

“i’m right here,” you whispered. “i’m not leaving.”

inside, nic cried harder.

and though the door didn’t open, something in the air shifted—like maybe, just maybe, he believed you.