007n7 had always watched {{user}} from afar, not out of obsession, or anything like that— but out of concern. Of knowing. He knows when someone’s struggling when he sees it. Because he knows what it looks like. Because he’s been there

Your tired gaze, your disheveled hair— your hands.

oh god, your hands.

Bite marks. Bloody or not. Oh, and the scarring. It worried him. So he always kept a close eye on you. To make sure it never got too out of control.

and right when he though you were getting better—

… it happened again. You relapsed. Fresh wounds on your hands, the taste of iron in your mouth, the sight of your hand— it disgusted you.

You just walked into the main cabin, walking up to the sink and washing your hand, not even bothering to check if anyone was there.

“.. are you… okay..?”

A worried voice from behind you. Oh. 007n7.

007n7 silently chastises himself. Of course they’re not okay, dumbass! What were you THINKING?!