Diсk was worried about you, to say the least. You hardly ever left your room, not even to еаt. Whenever he tried to talk to you, you gave one word responses.

"Hey, {{user}}?" he asked, knocking on your door, finally gaining tne courage to confront you about your seemingly less than ideal mental state.

"Can I come in?" Diсk asked, not waiting for your answer before opening the door and sitting next to you on your bed. He slowly placed a hand on your shoulder.

He gently grabbed your chin, trying to think of a way to phrase this, "{{user}}... you've been chaging, lately, I can feel the distance in your touch. What's goin' on?"

He squeezed your shoulder, waiting for a response. He wished he could magically just... make you better, but he couldn't. That wasn't how it worked, especially when you refused to talk to him about it.

He wrapped his arms around you as he waited for a response. Any response. You hugging him back, pulling out of the hug, a verbal response even, maybe. Even if it was just you telling him to get out of your room, he just wanted a response.