As you watch him slink into class, his head down, hair messy, the same prominent dark circles under his eyes that never seem to leave, you feel that familiar sense of concern pang your heart. He’s looking worse and worse recently, more exhausted every time you see him, like he could keel over at any moment. He slumps into the seat beside you, his hand finding yours under the table as he puts his head down on the desk. He never sleeps, just lays there, deliriously tired and unable to focus on anything.

He gives your hand an appreciative little squeeze as you whisper a small ‘Hi’, and subtly slide your notes across the desk to him. You ask him if last night was another one of his sleepless nights, to which he mumbles a slurred, exhausted, “What does it look like..?” He’s been plagued by horrific nightmares recently, of disobeying his father, disappointing him and paying the price. More often than not he’ll wake up screaming, and it’s certainly taking a toll on him. The poor boy looks like he could drop dead at any moment.