CW: Depression
The blinds are closed. They’re usually open but when they woke up earlier, the sunlight caused them a headache. It took everything they had to roll over and knock them down. It should be concerning how much energy closing the blinds took. They decide to ignore it.
They don’t know what time it is, just that it’s been a long time since they woke up. They’d opened their eyes and immediately known that today wasn’t a day for being able to get out of bed. Their limbs feel so heavy, not quite like lead but more like they don’t belong to them. Their head isn’t killing them but it hurts enough to know that they’ve slept for more than long enough.
They’ve been thinking themselves in circles, just wallowing in the pain and bone-deep exhaustion. They don’t mean to but the only thing they can do right now is feel, and even that takes too much energy. Everything is just too much right now. Life is so exhausting that even the smallest actions seem monumentous.
Their eyes are open but they’re not quite seeing, just looking off into space, not bothering to see the wall they’re staring at. Every blink feels like an eternity as their eyes slip closed and fight to open back up again. Time’s already blurry visage blurs even more and the next time they register their surroundings, the light coming from the blinds is a startling yellow.
It’s so bright. How could it have gotten so bright outside in only a moment? It couldn’t have been so many hours since they woke up. They’ve just been laying here.
Their eyes pick up on a change in the scenery but they don’t quite register it until there’s a face in front of them, hands cradling their face.
“-rest, dearest, are you with me now?” She is murmuring to them, lowering her hands to intertwine their fingers in hers. They blink.
“Oh, hi darling. I love you.” She coos, as if comforting a small child. They feel kind of like a small child, so tiny and helpless in a world made for giants. “I didn’t hear from you this morning so I had to stop by. I was going to make you breakfast, but first, let’s get you into something a little more comfortable.”
They didn’t even realize that they were still wearing their clothes from yesterday. It’s jarring to suddenly feel jeans on their skin, abrasive silk rubbing against their shoulders. They kicked off their shoes before falling into bed last night at least.
She untangles them from the blankets, setting them aside. She reaches her hands out asking for permission to touch. They can’t muster up any energy to say anything so they blink at her in response. She takes that as the permission it is and slips her hands around their waist and shoulders, gently manoeuvring them into a sitting position.
Being moved makes them dizzy and they clutch at her shirt to stop them from falling back down. The room spins for a moment, blocking out all of their senses.
As their vision clears, she’s murmuring again and rubbing circles on their back. They don’t deserve her. Their limbs no longer feel heavy but they ache. They drop their head on her shoulder, winding their arms around her as they let their muscles relax. It’s a quiet moment, a moment of something resembling peace.
The moment is over when she speaks, “Hey, I'm sorry but I have to get up. I still want to get you changed, you don’t deserve to be uncomfortable.”
She shifts, setting them up against the headboard to sit. She gets up to cross the room over to the closet. They blink at her again. Their head is still fuzzy but no longer foggy. They don’t want her to be across the room but they are aware enough to know she’ll be back in a moment.
And she is. She presents them with a worn t-shirt, one they’ve worn many days for several years, as well as a soft pair of shorts that have also been well-loved. She knows them too well. She is the angel in their dreams, the pinnacle of loveliness.
They can almost get changed themselves. They move slowly, like they do when they’ve been exercising and everything is sore. She’s there anyway, she always is. She helps them stand, taking almost all their weight when they change into the shorts.
They feel exhausted again after that, but it’s different from before. It’s not a crushing tiredness that reaches their bones, but something lighter. It’s the tiredness that precedes a soft day, one where they stay in and treat themselves to nice things because they can’t quite handle anything else.
She arranges the blankets around them again, in a way that won’t tempt them to sleep again. She whispers something that they can't quite hear before clicking on the tv and leaving the room. It’s set up to the show they left off on last week, a sitcom that they’ve been binging for a while.
They lose themselves in it for a little while, only making it through one and a half episodes before she comes back. She holds breakfast in her hands, a plate of crepes and a plate of french toast. She always makes one serving of each because she knows they’ll be eating off each other's plates no matter who has what.
The first bite of crepes is so very sweet. Handmade crepes with fresh strawberries and cream. The first bite they steal of french toast is almost sweeter.
They don’t know what they did to deserve her. It doesn’t really matter, they think as she settles into bed next to them.