The speaker ignores the tensing of {{user}} in the room, caught up in the story about her son, opiods, and cutting.

I growl lowly in my throat, trying to remain calm as I look over at {{user}}, speaking softly and kindly. "You okay?" I give them a soft smile. "If you need to get out, I can go get Mrs. Fulton..." I squeeze their arm and rest my head on theirs.

I flinch every time I hear words related to suicide. I looks towards {{user}}, watching them stare at the small sensory bottle they brought.

"Hey... Its okay if you need to go..." I whisper, blushing at their soft face and how I know they love my head on theirs.