(This one I'm giving a trigger warning. It deals with depression and suicide and I don't want to trigger anybody. ♡

Also a one-shot without smut.)

I shouldn't be doing this.

But you were, weren't you? Staring at the ceiling, eyes unblinking, going dryer and dryer the longer you stared. The weight on your chest was unbearable, far too heavy and cumbersome to move. Not that you would have wanted to.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat having long passed. You hardly moved, almost paralyzed with the lack of emotion inside you. You felt nothing.

I really shouldn't be doing this but I don't feel like moving.

The temptation was ever present. Such was it that your condition came with those thoughts, as appealing as they were. How easy it would be to simply leave everything behind. To cut the cord, so to speak.

You closed your eyes. You were drowning in the terrible weight that was pulling you down, sinking further into the bed. There were no tears, but you wished there were. After all, it wasn't always the crying that felt the worst; it was this.

Being numb.

Your stomach growled loudly; you had forgotten to eat. Again. Did you want to get up and fix something? No. But the growling was persistent and painful, and slowly you roused yourself from the stupor you had fallen into, sitting up and clutching your head. A couple of days without food and you had gained nothing but a whopper of a headache.

Slowly you made your way into the little kitchen area. You knew what resided in your cupboards, but to humor yourself you opened them anyway. There was nothing suitable for sustenance; you would have to go out to grab something.

Looking down at yourself you wondered if you had the strength to get dressed properly.

I guess we'll see.

It took an eternity to make it back to your bedroom. Your bed was calling out to you, wanting you back. And you wanted nothing more than to sink back down for another couple of hours until at last exhaustion made you sleep. But food was a must, so you pulled on a pair of jeans, faded and torn, and an oversized hoodie with the hood pulled up. You didn't bother with trying to fix your hair; who the fuck cared about it? Not you.

You glanced in the mirror and immediately hated the being staring back at you. Heavy bags under the eyes, a sallow expression across the face. Eyes that had known horrors, had seen too many days of feeling numb to the world.

Slipping into a pair of shoes you swallowed hard, realizing that going out into public was probably the worst idea you could come up with, but you weren't giving yourself much of a choice.

Besides, even if you ran into someone that you knew, you would simply pass it off as the flu. It was flu season after all, and considering how awful you knew you looked, it would be an easy thing to pass along.

●■●■●

The air was crisp but not too cold. Perfect for walking down to the corner store alone. It was dark, but you found no reason to care. A bell dinged overhead as you stepped into the shop, but the cashier didn't even look up from whatever they were doing to acknowledge you. And really, that suited you just fine.

A slight frown on your face you wandered the aisles aimlessly, stopping at a display of pre-made sandwiches and salads and all the deli sort of things that you typically wouldn't have bought. But for not having any food in some time, you guessed that something nutritious was in order. As bland as it was going to be.

"You're not actually gonna eat that stuff, are you?"

His voice broke your thoughts and you glanced up into a pair of blue eyes, ones that were smiling serenely. But his smile didn't last long when he found that you weren't speaking. You couldn't, your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth. Of course you would run into some handsome stranger when you looked your absolute worst. Of course.

The tears finally came right then and there, spilling over at an alarming rate. He took a step back, but came forward again, hesitant but clearly concerned. "H-hey, it's all right, I was just teasing you..." His accent was slight but nonetheless present. There was a deep rut between his eyebrows, reaching up to wipe a few of your escaping tears away.

The touch made you flinch away, looking down and away from him. Then you brushed past him, heading for the door.

Fuck food. Fuck everything. I can't fucking live like this anymore.

There was a hand on your shoulder as you walked along the street, and you whipped around to find the same stranger there, the streetlamp illuminating the two of you from above. Had he followed you out of the shop? "Are you all right?" he asked you softly.

"I have the flu," you explained, lying directly to his face. He was a stranger, after all, so your mental health was none of his fucking business.

He, on the other hand, clearly did not believe you. You didn't know him at all, but slowly he pulled you into a hug. This strange, handsome man pulled you into a hug that you didn't have the strength to pull away from, much less push him away. You sank into his arms, head resting on your shoulder as you burst into tears. He rubbed your back in a soft, soothing manner, murmuring to you. "It's all right... let it out. I won't leave."

"I d-don't even kn-know you..." you whispered, unable to stop the tears from falling and soaking his black hoodie. On the front were the letters PMA, and you didn't know nor care what they stood for.

All you cared about was that someone cared enough to let you cry.

But... you didn't know him? That was a refreshing change of pace. He was smiling gently as he rubbed your back, at least until you lifted your head and pulled away. "Would you like me to walk you home? It's dark out, I'd feel terrible if something happened to you..."

You honestly did not care one way or the other if something did happen to you. It would be a nice change from living the way you did. "Why are you..."

"Being so nice?" he finished for you. He smiled, pulling away from the hug with his hands still on your shoulders. "Listen. None of my business why you're out and about at this hour, but... I can tell something's wrong. And I won't let something bad happen to you."

You felt dead inside, not reacting to his words. They were kind, for sure, but he was nonetheless nothing but a good-looking stranger whom had run into you.

He seemed to sense your hesitation as he took a minute step back, holding out a hand for you to shake. "I'm Seán."

You stared at his hand for a few long, awkward moments before finally shaking it. His grip was firm and warm, full of the life and vitality that you seemed to be lacking as of late.

The rut had reappeared between his brows. "You look like you haven't eaten or slept. Are you sure it's the flu?"

"It's not the fucking flu," you spat, suddenly overcome with an unnecessary rage at him. How dare he pry into your life? "It's called fucking depression. All right? I haven't eaten in, like, three days. All I do is sleep and stare at the ceiling. Are you fucking happy now that you have the fucking truth?" Your throat closed up with the oncoming tears, and your face burned hot in shame. It felt weak, to succumb to something like this.

Seán swallowed and wiped a few stray tears away from your face before wrapping an arm around your waist. The gesture wasn't meant to be romantic, it was a means of support. "Come on," he murmured, face full of concern for you, "let's get you something to eat before anything else."

"I'm not hungry," you protested. Lying straight to his face despite his knowing the truth.

"I ain't taking no for an answer, you know." He smiled softly, walking with his arm around you. You looked weaker than you realized, and he was more than a touch concerned for your well-being. As much as he tried to encourage people to take PMA to heart, sometimes it just wasn't enough. But you didn't even know who he was, which suited him perfectly.

To be honest, your frankness with your condition had frightened him. For all he knew, you were on the verge of dying, whether it be from starvation or by your own hand. They were thoughts he didn't like, and had scared him very badly. It was in his nature to care, and this was no exception.

You were led to a nearby diner, the type that was always open. Within the timespan of a few minutes the two of you were seated. "What do you like to eat?" Seán questioned of you, glancing over the menu. All he really wanted was a cup of coffee, but if eating would encourage you to do the same, then it was fine.

"I don't." You stared at the menu on the tabletop, not even opening it, just staring at the cover in a stupor. Then you sighed and sat back in your seat. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so--"

He held up a hand. "You don't have to apologize to me. I understand." He smiled as the waiter returned. You managed to order some breakfast food, while Seán did the same, along with a cup of his precious dirty bean water. Adjusting the hat on his head he leaned forward a bit, arms crossed and resting on the table. "So. Tell me about yourself."

You sighed through your nose. God, you hated small talk. Such a waste of fucking time. "What do you mean, how long I've been going through this?"

"Talk about whatever you like. Or don't talk at all. I'm just here to help," he smiled, his eyes lighting up slightly with the gesture. He was terribly handsome, and it was almost painful knowing you were being seen in public with him.

"I've been dealing with this bullshit for I don't know how long," you replied in a monotonous voice, picking at your nails beneath the table. "Some days it's not as bad as others. Like today. I got out of the house despite how shitty I look. Except I ran into someone like you."

He frowned a little. "Someone like me?"

"You're too good-looking to be seen with the likes of me."

"Hey, now... don't put yourself down so harshly." He was definitely frowning now. He would have reached for your hand were they even within reach. He had dealt with this so many times, being told that he had saved someone's life because of his work and who he was. It still stunned him to his core that he was able to help people at all. But now he had come across someone that he had a real chance to try and save. He sat up with a slight grin, gesturing to his hoodie. "Do you know what this stands for?" You shook your head. "PMA. Positive Mental Attitude."

He meant to explain where it had originated from, but you scoffed before he could get the words out. "And I'm guessing you're gonna tell me that that's what I should be doing instead of moping about? That happiness is a fucking choice?" The rage from before was building up again, rousing you from the stupor you had been in for so long that day. "Happiness isn't a fucking choice. If it was, do you really think I'd choose to be so fucking miserable? Do you think I enjoy this, feeling like I want to sleep forever and never wake up?"

His expression was one of hurt, and you felt a pang of regret. "That's not what I think at all," Seán replied quietly. "I made this because I had some dark thoughts at one point in my life too." Then he paused. "You really don't know who I am, do you?"

You shook your head. "Am I supposed to?" You sighed a little through your nose. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. I just... I hate that mentality. That toxic positivity. Telling me I can be cured if I just stop being like this." The tears were making their reappearance, and you felt powerless to stop them. "If it was that fucking easy I wouldn't be hurting so fucking much. Why can't people understand that?"

Alarmed at how loud your voice was going Seán got up and out of his seat, sliding into the booth beside you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "Let it out," he murmured. Just the very invitation of that made you burst into harsh sobs again. Luckily there was no one else in the diner, and by the time the food arrived you had settled down some.

He mostly drank his coffee, watching you carefully to ensure you had at least a few bites of food. Your stomach had shriveled to nothing and you had no appetite, but you managed to eat half of your food. That seemed to satisfy him, and he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. "You did good," he whispered, sliding out of the booth and returning to his seat across from you.

You touched the spot that he had kissed gingerly. "Why would you...?"

Seán merely smiled, not replying. He paid for the food and stood up, helping you out of the booth as well. "Come on, let's get you home."

The walk home was mostly silent, save for your sniffling. You had broken the dam, the tears seemingly never ending. At least you weren't numb.

You realized that your apartment was a total and complete disaster inside, but your tongue was still as you led him up the staircase towards it. Opening the door you sighed heavily, stepping around all the junk on the floor to let him inside. He did the same, eyeing the mess with an eye that was neither critical nor demeaning. He was mostly curious; he had never really understood this side to depression. "Do you want some help cleaning up a little?"

"I don't need you cleaning up my messes for me." Your mood was slowly beginning to deteriorate, and you sank into the sofa after clearing it off. Seán sat beside you, watching you carefully in between his glances around the place. "As you can see, I wasn't expecting company," you spoke, a note of sarcasm in your tone.

He smiled. "I don't mind. My place gets pretty messy too, but I just work too much."

"You work from home or something?"

He nodded. "I, uh... play video games for a living."

"Must be nice."

He shrugged a bit. "It's fun. I like my life, I couldn't have asked for a better one." Was he bragging? You couldn't tell. In the silence that followed his hand covered your own on the couch. You looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "It's all right. I'm just here to help, I'm not gonna take advantage of you or anything." As a precaution, he stood up and went to the tiny kitchen area. Within the span of a minute you could hear water running; he was doing the dishes for you.

You lay on the sofa in silence, listening to the stranger doing your chores. Something like pity welled up inside you, but it was for yourself. You hated pity. You hated feeling the way you did. Teary-eyed you sat up, sliding off of the couch and making your way to the bathroom. "Just give me a m-minute," you muttered. He turned to watch you disappear inside, shutting the door behind you.

In the end, you couldn't stop it. Sinking to the tiled floor, you stared at your hands, shaky and weak. Too weak to get back up. Your heart was pounding, and you were starting to hyperventilate. It had happened in the timespan of just a minute, but a minute was clearly far too long. Seán was at the door, knocking already. "Are you all right in there?" he called out. He could hear you breathing raggedly, and his heart sank. He tried the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and made his way inside.

He was too quick for you to cover up what you had done. You dropped the offending weapon on the floor as you flinched away from him, covering your face with your hands. The scars were all over, some newer than others, standing out against your skin. You burst into tears as he knelt beside you, grabbing a towel and pressing it to the new wound. It was not deep, but there was nonetheless blood smeared on the tiles and the sink as you had fallen to the floor before.

Seán said nothing, going pale as he pressed the towel to the wound until it stopped bleeding. Then he helped you to your feet, finding a first aid kit beneath the sink and treating it with as much care as he could manage. Wrapping up your arm neatly he put the kit away again before taking your hands in his. His blue eyes were cast down, but you caught a glimpse of his own tears that were threatening to fall. He stared at your scars, and you felt incredibly self-conscious, pulling your sleeves back down. "I wish I could do something," he whispered, lower lip trembling.

Truth be told you regret having done what you did the moment it happened. All he was trying to do was help. But why was he crying? "Why? Don't cry for me," you spoke softly, watching as he took hold of your hands again, rubbing them softly. "I'm just a nobody."

"You aren't. Never say that." His words were sharp but quiet, looking up at you fully, the tears in his baby blues finally spilling over. He pulled you into a hug, face burying itself into the crook of your neck. "I promise you I'll come round every day if I have to. I'll even crash here overnight if you let me."

".... why?" The monotone had returned, but it was more from being stunned than numb.

"Because I don't want to lose you."

"You don't even know me."

"It doesn't matter." He pulled away, taking your face in his hands and kissing the space between your eyes. "I know why I ran into you now. I'll do my fucking hardest to try and help you."

Your throat burned with the need to cry. You swallowed it back down, but your voice was shaky. "Why are you doing this? I'm a lost cause. I'm not worth it."

"Every life is worth it. Let me help you. Please." Seán stroked the side of your face. "I won't leave you be. I'll stay while you get the help you need. No matter what, I'm not leaving you."

You sniffed a tiny bit, wiping your face. "How do you know I'll even feel better?"

He smiled. "PMA."