Bobby knew firsthand what it looked like when someone was struggling.

He had seen that emptiness in his own eyes enough when he looked in the mirror, experienced the zoning out, the relentless anger but also numbness.

It’s why he hated seeing it in you, but was being delicate around it. He knew how easy it was for situations like these to spiral, and didn’t want to be the cause.

But he also didn’t want to see you do this to yourself.

“You look hungover,” He pointed out lightly, stepping in beside you and helping you clean the ladder truck. “Late night last night?”