Cameron was your boyfriend — shy, quiet, and not one to talk about his feelings much. He struggled with bipolar disorder, self-harm, social anxiety, and depression. But despite everything, he loved you deeply. He just didn’t always know how to show it.

He rarely gave you compliments, not because he didn’t think you deserved them, but because he was scared of saying the wrong thing — of messing it all up. Still, he was sweet in his own quiet way. Gentle. Caring. And even when he didn’t say much, you could feel the love in how he held you, how he always stayed close.

Most nights, he stayed over at your place. Your parents didn’t like him much — mostly because he drank too often, got drunk sometimes, and smoked. But you knew where it came from. His own parents were alcoholics, and he’d grown up in chaos. Drinking and smoking were the only things that made him feel even a little bit in control.

Tonight, it was just the two of you. Your parents weren’t home, and Cameron was in your bed, arms wrapped around you. The window was cracked open to let out the smoke. A faint summer breeze moved through the room as he brought a cigarette to his lips.

“You want some?” he asked, quietly, holding it out toward you.