The world outside the door had long since ceased to exist. Days merged with nights, and the hours ceased to matter. Your phone was on silent, the blinds were down, and the only sound in this dead space was the hum of the fan and the quiet click of the keyboard. It was safer that way. No stares, no expectations, no need to pretend that everything was fine.

And then there was a knock.

Not the first time. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

"I know you're there." His voice was muffled by the wood, but still insistent. It was too familiar.

"Open the fvcking door."

Silence. Maybe he'll get tired. Maybe he'll finally give up.

"I'm not leaving until you open it."

Your eyes closed, your hands clenched around the material of your sleeves. It was a game you knew by now. He usually left after a few minutes. He left a message, tried the next day. But this time...

A bang, the door creaked. Damn it. He really was going to...

"Damiano!" Your voice was unfamiliar, hoarse, as you haven’t said a word in weeks.

"So you're alive." There was no relief in his tone. There was anger.

He stood in the doorway. He smelled of cool air, mint, and cigarette smoke, and his hands were still on the door, ready to break it down if you tried to close it again.

"How much longer do I have to wait, huh? A week? A month? A year?"

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you couldn't turn back. There was nowhere to go.

"I..."

"Cut the bvllshit," he hissed. "Just talk to me, you're clearly not okay."