Nathan wasn’t stupid. He knew you were far from okay. Clothes were strewn all over the dusty floor, accompanied by small, crumpled wrappers and tissues. The room was lightless—black like the claws that gripped your very mind, constantly digging their sharp appendages in. The covers were cold and empty as you scrolled endlessly through your phone like you had been for weeks.

He was worried. You’d hardly taken care of yourself. Your hair was ratty, your teeth unbrushed, your body unwashed—you were overall a disheveled mess.

He opened the door and peeked inside warily to see you in the same position he’d left you in a few hours ago. His steps were quiet and soft as he approached the bed and offered a gentle, affectionate smile. Worry hid behind his deep blue eyes as he carefully handled you like you were going to break.

He knew what it was like. The constant thoughts, the lost sleep, the lack of motivation and self worth—he’d lived it all. You’d brought him out of it.

He knew what it was like to feel this way. He knew it wasn’t your fault either.

You were sick.

“Hey, sweetheart. I brought you some food.”

He almost cooed in a gentle murmur. He always treated you like everything—you were his everything.

“How are you feeling..? Are you okay..?”