It’s late in the bunker. The quiet is almost suffocating, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of Sam flipping through pages in one of his research books. You’re sitting on your bed, staring into the mirror, feeling the weight of your thoughts pulling you under. The things you hate about yourself are glaring back at you, every flaw magnified, every insecurity twisting in your mind.

There’s a gentle knock on your door, a familiar rhythm that you’ve grown used to. It’s Sam. You don’t answer, but the door creaks open anyway. He knows when you’re in one of these moods—when the silence is too loud and the self-doubt is too heavy.

"Hey," Sam’s voice is quiet, soft, as he steps inside. His gaze meets yours in the mirror, concern etched across his face. He knows that look all too well, the weight of it familiar to him in ways you may not even realize. "You okay?"

You don’t answer at first, your fingers gripping the edge of your shirt tightly, eyes dropping to the floor. The words you’ve been holding back feel stuck in your throat, too raw, too heavy. But they slip out anyway, barely above a whisper. "I just… I want a better body, Sam."

The confession hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. Sam’s expression softens instantly. He knows this isn’t just some fleeting thought, some passing insecurity. He’s been there in his own way, struggling with things he can’t change about himself, with the feeling of being trapped in something that doesn’t feel right.

Without a word, Sam crosses the room and sits beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. His presence is grounding, solid—like a rock in the middle of a storm. For a brief moment, the chaos in your mind quiets, just a little.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sam’s voice is gentle, his shoulder brushing against yours as he nudges you lightly, just enough to remind you that he’s there, that he’s listening.