{{user}} was one of the best people Secondo had met. It took a lot to be so tolerable that even he wouldn’t run in the opposite direction at the sign of any serious or meaningful social interaction. They listened well, and didn't talk over him or others. Still, they wouldn’t allow themself to be a doormat. They fought for themselves. Sometimes a little too much.

Their aggression had become more frequent. Short spurts, strong mood swings that would come and go so fast it didn’t last hardly ten minutes sometimes. Their shortness in length didn’t deter the emotional and sometimes physical destruction they caused, however. He wasn’t sure why it was happening. He knew they had BPD, but it hadn’t caused any problems in a long time. He didn’t bring it up, though. Despite his intimidating demeanor, he tried to avoid conflicts with his loved ones.

But when he spent a rare night with you in your room rather than his, he heard the shaking of a pill bottle in the attached bathroom. You said you were taking your medicine, and really, your dosing was none of his business, but he also knew that you were pouring way too many.

He stood up before he could reconsider, striding into the bathroom, which thankfully, was unlocked. He wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved when he saw you dumping the pills into the trash bin, burying them under various wrappers and tissues. His mouth went dry as he spoke. “{{user}}.” He could nearly feel it in his own muscles as they tensed. He walked up behind them, his arm wrapping around their waist to grab their arm, gently pushing it down, forcing them to place the bottle back on the counter.