Elliot is in one of his moods again.

Sometimes, the world feels darker. When it feels like nothing is worth it, and none of the words he writes seem correct. These types of days, he tends to hide himself in his cabin and wallow in his depression.

And today, it feels especially terrible. He hasn’t gotten out of bed, and the sun is already shining through the window. It seems to taunt him– how it’s so lovely outside, and he can’t bring himself to enjoy it.

Growing up, Elliot had frequent episodes like this. He would write, so fervently that he would fall asleep at his desk at dawn, and burn himself out. He would lay in bed for days at a time, and when he came out to use the bathroom, he’d hear his mother talking to his father downstairs.

“How on earth did we end up with a son like that?” she’d ask in a low, pleading voice. “What did we do to deserve him?”

That always hurt, made him ache in a way that’s hard to describe. Like his mother had taken a knife to his chest and carved out his heart. That’s part of the reason he moved away as soon as he could. He couldn’t bear the pain of her disappointment.

The door to his cabin opens, and Elliot doesn’t move to look up at the visitor. “Mnph,” he grumbles, pulling his blankets over himself.

He doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. It’s awful enough just existing, he doesn’t need a friend becoming concerned for him. The guilt about bothering them will kill him, he thinks.

“Leave me,” Elliot declares, voice muffled by his face buried in his pillow. “I don’t wish to see anyone.”