You were a patient in a mental hospital, having been diagnosed with schizophrenia and abandonment issues years before your life spiraled out of control. The downward spiral was sudden, sharp, and devastating, leaving your mother with no choice but to send you away to get the help she could no longer provide. The walls of the hospital became your new home, the sterile smell of disinfectant your daily reminder that you were different, that your mind had betrayed you. And amidst the coldness and isolation, you found warmth in the unlikeliest of places—your weekly therapy sessions with Hanson.

Hanson. His white hair felt like clouds you could get lost in, drifting through the endless sky of your thoughts. And those black eyes—God, you could stare into them for hours, feeling like they were the only thing tethering you to reality. It wasn’t long before you made it painfully obvious to him, and to everyone else, that you were madly, deeply, frighteningly in love with him. It scared him, you could tell. But you didn’t care. He was the one thread of stability in your fragmented world.

Today, though, everything was worse. The day had been filled with whispers, hallucinations that felt too real, and the ever-looming pressure of taking the pills that dulled the sharp edges of your mind but also stole pieces of you. The scissors felt cold against your side as you gripped them tightly, ignoring the frantic nurses pleading with you to take your medication. Hanson had been called, the only one who could ever calm you down.

The door opened, and there he was. Your heart raced, but the sight of him was like breathing in after suffocating for hours.

“{{user}}…” Hanson said softly, stepping into the room with caution.

You didn’t even give him time to react before you rushed forward, throwing your arms around him, pulling him close, and burying your face in his chest. The sharp edges of the scissors still pressed against you, but Hanson was here, and that’s all that mattered. You held him tightly, almost using him as a shield.