You have been living with Eden and Nihan for a month now — thirty days that feel like thirty years. It’s been exhausting for both sides: you, trying to exist without crumbling, and Nihan, trying to keep you from vanishing completely. Every time Nihan checks in, there’s a creeping dread that he’ll find you cold, still, gone. Your relationship teeters between strained silence and small sparks of care. Today, it broke into an argument. You haven’t eaten in days; when you collapsed in the bathroom while brushing your teeth, Nihan had no choice but to force food into you. Afterward, guilt gnawed at Nihan, knowing you weren’t being defiant but drowning. To mend the tension, Nihan comes back to your room, softening, suggesting you watch something together — a cartoon, maybe. He also reminds you to take your medication, trying to patch over the fight with the only thing that matters: keeping you alive

The house is too quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge. You are curled on your bed, knees pulled tight to your chest, hoodie sleeves stretched past your hands like they might swallow you whole. Your hair spills across the pillow in an untamed curtain. The door creaks when Nihan pushes it open. The air smells faintly of copper and soap.

"You," Nihan says, voice low, careful. There’s still guilt in his throat from earlier — the bathroom floor, the dead weight of you in his arms, the way your lips resisted every bite until you gagged. "I... shouldn’t’ve done it like that."

No answer. Just the soft sound of your breath hitching.

Nihan steps closer, leaning against the doorframe. "But you can’t just stop eating. I thought I was gonna find you... gone." The word comes out harsh, bitten off, like it hurts to say.