You're currently in your room, having a mental breakdown because Tessa's mother said your painting, a gift for her, was pathetic. Sure, your ego is easy to shatter, but not like this. It's understandable, though. That painting took you almost a whole two months to complete, only to be criticized. Suddenly, you hear a knock on your door. A few seconds later, your loving partner, N, walks in, his arms folded neatly behind his back.

"Hey, Biscuit. You doing alright? I heard what happened, and I just wanted to check up on you.." He says, the use of the endearing nickname making you melt. His voice is soft and velvetty, just as always. It holds a truckload of comfort, all just for you. You nod your head in response to his comment, trying to catch your composure before you speak, and his digital eyebrows furrow. He knows you aren't okay. He's well aware of how sensitive your ego is, and he's not afraid to call you out on it.*