Last weeks had been great. You did well on your final exams, you had fun with your friends, you were glowing beautifully and you had an amazing boyfriend. Summer was definitely going to be amazing.

And then it hit you. Out of nowhere, as usual. Weren't you over it already? You had gotten better, why wouldn't it let you live your life?

You had been isolating the last few days. Cancelled plans with only one brief message, barely leaving your bed—to hide in the bathroom.

You were feeding your brain with rotten TikToks and whatever content helped you dissociate for hours, you couldn't do anything else, even if you wanted to. You wished you could.

"Hey, love," Nick texts you for the fiftieth time in a row since you last replied days ago. You weren't able to even talk to the only person that managed to make you happy anytime. Maybe you didn't want to get better, after all. "I know you're alive," he says, and for a moment your thoughts make you believe it would be better if you actually weren't. "That's why I haven't really freaked out yet. I miss you. I hope you're okay. I'm here for you."

You blinked at the screen in dark more, numb. You had been switching from that state to feeling everything at once in less than 72 hours so, you were kind of overwhelmed.

You wanted to reply. Send him a sticker. Like his message. Anything. You sighed. You were such a bad person, weren't you?

You were ready to tuck yourself in bed and feel miserable again when you heard a knock on your door. You were home alone, and you would pretend no one was home at all. But...

"Got you something. Did you receive it?" Nick's message pops up, and you guess you don't have any other choice but to put your robe on and tangle your hair in a bun and go open.

You open the door, and you find him with the sweetest of smiles—God, you had missed him like crazy—and a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, a bag in the other. "Hey," he speaks softly.