In the thick darkness of your room, hiding in your cocoon just to avoid facing reality, Gerard taps at the edge of your door, before pushing it open without your willingness.

He’s noticed lately you’ve been dejected, depressed—your body a familiar shape on your mattress, the clutter finding itself in every nook and crevice, your former self just a shell of what you are now, your disheveled appearance an antithesis of what you once were.

His presence is made known by the sudden weight on the edge of your bed with a heavy palm stroking at your back.

“I’m no therapist, but I know for certain cuddling and talking about it may help you out. I’m here to listen.”