Imagine lying in bed, desperately trying to make yourself get up, but failing miserably. Eating, showering, brushing your teeth — it’s all too much.
And then you hear the familiar sound of your f/o’s footsteps.
They don’t speak right away. You can feel their presence as they stand in the doorway, their piercing gaze taking in your motionless form.
Finally, their voice cuts through the suffocating silence, “So, this is how you’ve decided to spend your evening. Hiding from the world, pretending it will disappear if you don’t face it?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Their words hold no malice, but they cut through you anyway, the truth in them too heavy to acknowledge.
“Very well,” your f/o sighs, the sound more resigned than frustrated. “If you insist on drowning in your misery, I will not stand idly by and watch.”
Before you can even process what they mean, they’re pulling the blanket off of you, their movements firm yet careful, as though they know exactly how fragile you are right now. Your f/o scoops you up effortlessly, one arm around your back, the other under your knees, cradling you as if you weigh nothing at all.
“Dinner first,” they say simply, already carrying you to the dining room. Their tone is final — there’s no room for argument.
When they set you down at the table, there’s already a plate waiting for you. Your f/o stands nearby, watching you closely as you hesitantly stare at the food.
“You needn’t finish it all, but you will eat,” they murmur. “For me, if not for yourself.”
The weight of their gaze compels you to pick up your fork. You take a bite, then another, and though you feel weak and slow, their unrelenting focus doesn’t waver. When you pause, their voice softens just enough to be comforting.
“Good,” they encourage. “Keep going.”
When you’ve eaten as much as you can, they help you to your feet again, their hand steadying you as they guide you to the bathroom. You freeze when you see your f/o pick up your toothbrush, but they don’t hesitate, squeezing the toothpaste onto the bristles as though this, too, is their responsibility now.
“Open your mouth,” they order, glancing at you with a look that’s both exasperated and oddly tender.
You comply, and they slowly brush your teeth for you. When they’re finished, they wipe the corner of your mouth with their thumb, the touch lingering for a moment before they speak again, their voice quiet.
“There we go,” they say, as though it’s a task only they could have done properly.
Next is the shower. Your f/o turns on the water, testing the temperature, their expression unreadable. You hesitate, unsure, but the look they give you leaves no room for doubt.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” they huff. “I’ve already taken you this far.”
You step into the water, and though they remain just outside, you feel their presence like a shield against the world. When your legs wobble, the glass door opens slightly, their hand reaching in to steady you, their fingers brushing against your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t know had fallen.
“Enough of this,” they whisper, their tone softening for just a moment. “You’ve endured, that is all I ask.”
When your f/o finally guides you to bed, you’re too drained to even argue. The sheets are cool and smooth against your skin, and their hands are impossibly gentle as they pull the blanket over you.
“F/O,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Why are you doing this?”
They pause, their gaze unreadable, yet so intense as though they’re staring straight into your soul.
“Because you are mine,” they say simply. “And I take care of what belongs to me.”
They settle beside you, their presence grounding you in a way that nothing else can. Your f/o’s hand brushes yours under the blanket, their touch surprisingly warm.
“Sleep now,” they murmur, their tone softer than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ll be right here when you wake up, I’m not going anywhere.”
And as their thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, you finally feel the heaviness in your chest begin to lift. For the first time in days, you close your eyes, and believe them.
