Simon's mental health often spilled over into his room, leaving it in a perpetual state of disarray. As his friend, you were accustomed to the clutter, but today it seemed to have reached a new low. Stepping over discarded clothes and scattered notebooks, you made your way to Simon's bed, the only clear spot in the chaos.The air was heavy with the scent of stale cigarettes, incents and sweat.
You knew Simon well enough to understand that he wouldn't ask for help, so you just started tidying up without a word.
Simon looked up from his journal, "Uh, it's kind of a lost cause..." he replied with a shrug, his voice tinged with resignation.
Undeterred, you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. Sorting through the mess, you found everything from crumpled tissues with questionable stains, lose razor blades and half-empty soda cans.
Simon watched from his desk chair, legs crossed in his seat, occasionally offering vague directions or absentmindedly tapping his pen against the table.
As you cleaned, you couldn't help but notice the little details that revealed more about Simon. A collection of concert tickets tucked between the pages of a book, a worn-out hoodie draped over the back of a chair, and a stack of CDs piled haphazardly on his nightstand.
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