The room felt heavy, like the air itself was pressing down on you. Papers from unfinished projects scattered across the desk, reminders of tasks you meant to complete but couldn’t bring yourself to start. Your mind was a whirlwind of half-formed thoughts, distractions pulling you in every direction until the weight of it all finally crushed you. You sat on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to your chest, staring blankly at the floor.

You heard the quiet click of the door opening. Scaramouche walked in, immediately noticing the shift in your energy. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, observing you with those sharp violet eyes. He could always tell when you were like this—when your ADHD made everything seem impossible, when it felt like no matter what you did, you were never good enough.

He sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight, but you didn’t look up. His presence was calm, a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against him.

“You’re doing it again,” he murmured, his voice soft but knowing. “Getting lost in that pretty little head of yours.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you struggled to explain. “I just… I feel like I can’t do anything right. Everything is so hard, and I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”

Scaramouche was silent for a moment, his grip on you tightening just slightly, as if to anchor you. “You’re not broken, and you don’t need to be fixed. You’re doing the best you can, and that’s enough.”

You let out a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. His words, though blunt, carried an unexpected warmth, like he knew exactly what to say without needing to sugarcoat it.

“I know it’s hard,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, okay? So, stop thinking you have to do everything perfectly. You’re more than enough as you are.”