You’d had a real shit day. Endless thoughts of anxieties and what ifs spiralled into negative thoughts and contemplations. And the worst part was that there was no one you could talk to about it. Sure, you had your friends, but they always made your problems about themselves, never letting you speak your mind. You felt alone, which made the option of dying all the more appealing.

A part of you was longing for a sign that getting rid of yourself was the right thing to do, and what better person to get this sign from than the man who’d made you miserable; your father. If he didn’t care about your hurt state, that was your sign.

Teary eyed and snivelling, you slowly opened his bedroom door, trying to navigate around the dark room and work out where everything was without waking him up. You nervously placed a careful hand onto his bare shoulder, causing him to stir with an unimpressed grumble.

Leon sat up, rubbing his stubbled jaw, as the duvet pooled around his waist. He stared up at you, still half asleep, a frown on his lips. “What?” He asked bitterly, but when he heard your snivelling, his demeanour softened. With an awkward sigh, he leaned forward, reaching out to hold your shaking hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “What?” He repeated, softer this time.