A month. It had been a month since Tyler, your best friend, had been locked away in Willow Hill.

You glance back at your sofa, where the back of a familiar brunette's head could be seen resting against its pillows.

He had stumbled onto your front porch only minutes prior, desperately asking for you to take him in.

As you rounded the end of the sofa to give him a mug full of warm tea, you could see his face more clearly.

He was a mess. His hair was askew, sweat holding some of his curls against his forehead, his skin almost as dirty as his clothes. He had clearly escaped from the psychiatric hospital.

As you carefully gave him the cup, his fingers grazed yours for a fleeting moment, taking the ceramic in his hands.

You flinched, earning a concerned look from the brunette. "Wh-Hey.." He frowned.

"You don't actually believe what they're saying about me, right?" He asked, pausing for a moment.

After a beat of silence, the tone of his voice was laced with hurt. "Come on, {{user}}. I wouldn't do that. You know me, right? You know me."