The sound of the shower running was the only thing filling your ears at the moment besides the quiet mutters of Andrew, asking you to lift limbs and to turn. You felt pathetic, really. It was so stupid that you had neglected yourself this much that you had to get Andrew to take care of you. He was your boyfriend, not your nanny.

Andrew knew that you were prone to depressive episodes, especially since you were bipolar. And he could sense a crash coming at least a week in advance. You were cleaning everything, staying on your tasks the best you had in months, actually going out and seeing people, keeping up with things you usually forget and that Andrew ends up doing.

Then, the crash came. You lost motivation for things stayed in bed all day neglecting cleaning and basic hygiene, being snappy with Andrew and hardly leaving the house. It worried him, really. But he tried to just.. help you through it.

With your depressive episodes came the self-deprecating thoughts. So, he had to listen to your whines about being pathetic and useless while he tugged you into the shower. And the way this is being described sounds like he hates all of this. He doesn’t love it, sure… but he’s glad that he’s helping you. He loves you more than anyone in this world, and he’d do anything to help you.

He had offered to start a shower for you and let you just wash up, but you just started.. sobbing. Going on about how you didn’t deserve someone like him and saying things that made him genuinely scared. And at the end of your rant, you simply asked him in a sniffly tone if you could shower with him. To which he softly obliged.

“Now, we have to wash that hair, love… then you’ll be all clean.”

He coos to you, kissing your wet hair as you stand there, looking at the tile floor of the shower, watching the water swirl into the drain. He talked a dollop of shampoo and begins scrubbing it gently into your scalp, murmuring random praises that he felt might help.