how do u think ben poindexter would act as a partner of a reader with mental problems? (it can be any type, depression, bpd, ocd) Do you think the relationship would be too chaotic considering that normally the reader is his "anchor" and not the other way around?
ben poindexter with a partner who struggles with mental health. 𝜗𝜚 headcanon’s
r e q u e s t e d ♡
includes ᝰ .ᐟ depressed!reader ,, anxiety!reader ,, anger issues!reader ,, ocd!reader ,, bpd!reader ,, bipolar!reader ,, psychopathic!reader ,, did!reader ,, adhd!reader
⏜︵ DEPRESSION . 𐂯
at first, he doesn't get it — but he feels it.
dex is someone who thrives on structure, discipline, and clarity. depression doesn’t fit into that mold, so at first he might react with frustration or confusion. he won’t understand why you can’t get out of bed or respond to messages, but he feels something’s wrong — and it stirs this deep, primal panic in him. he doesn’t like things he can’t fix.
hypervigilance kicks in hard. he starts watching you closely. if you’re sleeping more, eating less, avoiding eye contact — he notices every shift. it’s not even intentional at first, his brain is just wired that way. but eventually it becomes obsessive. he might track your routine without realizing it's intrusive. he just wants to understand how to help.
he becomes weirdly tender. dex is used to people leaving. the thought of losing you, especially when you're already emotionally distant, triggers all his abandonment issues. so suddenly he's doing small things — cleaning the apartment, bringing you your favourite things, sitting silently beside you.
he’s not great at boundaries. if you're pushing him away during depressive episodes he doesn’t always respect that space. he thinks “giving up” is betrayal — because that’s what was done to him, so he’ll push back. he might force interaction ("you need to eat something") thinking he’s helping, when really he’s not reading the room.
the guilt eats him alive. when he does snap (because let’s be real, he’s not emotionally consistent), he regrets it almost instantly. he’s not emotionally equipped to handle the weight of his trauma plus yours, and that makes him feel like a failure. it cycles into self-hatred: why can't I be what they need?
quiet protector mode. he becomes obsessed with shielding you from things that could “make it worse.” he’ll walk on eggshells around you when he thinks you’re fragile. if someone at work talks badly about you? they’re getting a very polite, very terrifying conversation in a back alley. he might not say "i love you" often but he'll absolutely threaten your ex behind the scenes.
tries to become your "routine." his brain thrives on predictability, so he tries to be yours. he brings coffee at the same time. texts you reminders. suggests daily walks, just five minutes. he’s not always gentle, but he’s steady in his own way.
there are days you can’t shower, can’t talk, can’t stop crying. you half expect him to walk out, slam the door, say this is too much. but he doesn’t. he sits on the floor beside the bed, back against the wall, eyes on the ceiling. you’re not a burden, he says once, so quietly you almost miss it.
he’s not the best at emotional language. he fumbles with words like “hope” or “healing.” but he’ll run a thumb over your knuckles when your hands are shaking. he’ll wrap you in his jacket when you won’t stop shivering. sometimes, when he’s sure you're asleep, he’ll whisper things like i need you to stay.
he takes your symptoms personally sometimes. he’s not perfect. if you ignore his texts, cancel plans too many times, part of him spirals — they don’t want me anymore. it’s not fair, but it’s real. he needs reassurance almost as badly as you do. when you’re both struggling at once, it can get stormy fast.
he doesn’t try to fix you. not once does he say just be happy. instead, he asks what do you need right now? even if the answer is nothing. even if it’s silence. he stops trying to “cure” your sadness and starts just existing with it. with you.
would it be chaotic? yes. very. especially if you’re the one who usually grounds him. the imbalance can create friction, confusion, emotional dysregulation on both sides. but dex craves connection, even when he’s awful at it. if anything your depression might force him to slow down, listen, and care in a way he’s never had to before.
⏜︵ ANXIETY. 𐂯
he doesn’t flinch at panic.
your hands start to shake. your breath shortens. maybe your chest is tight, and your brain's telling you the world is about to end. dex doesn’t panic with you. he doesn’t say calm down. he just kneels in front of you, steady eyes, quiet voice. you’re okay. i’ve got you.
he becomes your external voice of reason. doesn’t dismiss your spirals — but he challenges them. no, they’re not mad at you. you didn’t mess it up. you’re not a failure. he says it like it’s fact, because in his eyes, it is. when your brain lies to you, he’s the wall it can’t push through.
he knows routine calms you. he sticks to rituals. texting you good morning. calling at the same time every night. keeping your favourite tea stocked. it’s not that he’s overly romantic — he just understands that consistency is comfort. he’ll give you that stability with military precision.
crowds? overstimulation? he handles it.
big, chaotic spaces stress you out? he’ll put himself between you and the crowd without you asking. hand on your back. eyes scanning constantly. it’s second nature to him. he doesn’t just keep you safe — he makes you feel safe.
sometimes he forgets how intense he can seem. his tone gets sharp. his jaw clenches when he’s trying to be patient. sometimes that accidentally triggers your anxiety. when it happens, he pulls back fast.
he talks you down with brutal honesty. if you're catastrophizing, he'll look you dead in the eye and say, that's not going to happen. not to be dismissive — but because he needs you to feel grounded. sometimes it works. sometimes it doesn’t. but you always believe that he believes it.
he memorizes your cues. fidgeting, pacing, biting your nails, avoiding eye contact — he notices all of it. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but if he sees you spiraling, he’ll distract you fast. a question. a joke. a hand on your thigh. anything to stop the freefall.
your emotions don’t scare him. not when they’re loud, messy or irrational. he’s lived with his own intensity his whole life — he understands what it’s like to feel too much, too fast.
you apologize for everything. for “ruining” things. for “needing too much.” it hits him hard every time. don’t say that, he says, voice tight.
grounding you becomes instinct. he doesn’t even think about it anymore. when you're shaking, he grabs your hand. when you start zoning out, he says your name. when you forget how to breathe, he mirrors his breath with yours. it’s like muscle memory — his way of pulling you back to earth.
⏜︵ OCD. 𐂯
he recognizes it instantly.
before you even tell him, he knows. the checking, the tapping, the washing, the mental loops, it’s all painfully familiar. he doesn’t look at you like you’re weird. he looks at you like, shit. you too?
when you confess your rituals, the embarrassing ones, the intrusive thoughts, you expect disgust. or at least confusion. instead, he just nods.
sometimes your compulsions trigger his and vice versa. you need things clean, he needs things exactly placed. you wash your hands too much, he lines up the soap bottles by size. one of you starts, and the other spirals. it can get tense. sometimes you end up snapping at each other.
he doesn’t try to fix you but he does monitor you. he clocks every behavior shift. every time you do a compulsion more than usual. he won’t call you out right away, but later, when you’re both quiet, he’ll say i noticed you checked the lock nine times instead of five. not judgmental — just observant. it’s his way of keeping you safe. of loving you in his own controlled way.
you share intrusive thoughts. sometimes, in the dark, you tell him the things your brain says. the violent flashes. the terrifying urges. things you’ve never told anyone because you thought they made you dangerous. but dex just says i have them too.
hyperfixation nights. you both get caught in loops, cleaning, organizing, researching some obscure fact for hours. sometimes you’re side by side on the floor at 2am, surrounded by half-sorted junk, too deep in it to stop. you don’t talk. you don’t have to. there’s a strange comfort in the mutual obsession.
he’s gentle with your rituals to a point. he’ll flip the light switch six times if it calms you. he’ll check the stove, touch the doorknob, run through the “safety” list with you before bed.
meltdown territory is dangerous. if you’re both overwhelmed at the same time it can get bad. yelling. pacing. doors slammed. not because you’re mad at each other, but because your brains are both screaming for control.
you yell. over nothing. over a shirt being out of place, over a phrase that felt “wrong,” over rituals that weren’t “done right.” he yells back. both of you so desperate to maintain control in the only space you feel safe.
when you spiral, he mirrors — and it kills him. you start pacing. your brain floods. he feels it like static under his skin. he doesn’t know how to help, so he does what he knows: control. “you need to sit down.” / “do the thing again, it’ll feel better.”
sometimes he feeds into the loop without meaning to, trying to soothe you, even when it reinforces the compulsion.
⏜︵ BPD. 𐂯
lovebombing is the default setting. he doesn’t fall in love slowly, neither do you. it’s intense. it’s fast. texting 24/7. staying up all night. he says things like i think i need you to breathe. you believe him. you build an entire future in your heads before the first fight even happens.
then — the splitting. he says something wrong. he looks at you weird. you don’t answer a message fast enough. suddenly, you hate him. he’s cold. distant. cruel. but at the same time? you’re sobbing. checking your phone. hoping he texts.
he's the same. one second: you're perfect. next: you're just like everyone else who left. it's a war. every day. between i can’t lose you and you’ve already destroyed me.
the abandonment fear rules everything. didn’t text back in 10 minutes? you spiral. he goes quiet for a day? you’re convinced he’s done with you. but when you pull away, even slightly? he’s showing up at your door, eyes bloodshot, voice shaking.
fights escalate fast. it starts small, a tone, a word. then suddenly you’re screaming. throwing things. saying things you don’t mean but feel in that moment. he yells back. sometimes punches walls. sometimes storms out. neither of you can stay gone.
impulsive affection. tattoos. gifts. kissing him mid-argument. climbing into his lap after saying you hated him. he matches it. hand gripping your jaw like he can’t decide whether to kiss you or strangle you.
you both need constant reassurance. “do you love me?” / “are you mad at me?” / “are you gonna leave?” he asks as much as you do. maybe more.
you trigger each other constantly. you both fear rejection. both fear being “too much.” sometimes you self-destruct first just to beat him to it. he does the same thing. it’s exhausting.
the threat of leaving hangs over everything. “maybe you’d be better off without me.” / “i’m just gonna ruin you.” you both say it. neither of you go.
even when you’re halfway out the door. even when your bags are packed. something always pulls you back, a shaky voicemail, a familiar song, or just the unbearable silence that feels like dying.
the mood shifts are violent. he kisses your forehead and tells you you’re perfect, then suddenly he’s pacing, snapping, calling you clingy.
you both test each other all the time. ignoring texts just to see if he’ll double message, picking a fight just to feel close again. threatening to leave, not because you want to — but because you need him to say “don’t.” and he does the same. “go then.”
you spiral at the same time. when you’re upset, he’s upset. when he’s triggered, you are too. there’s no one to pull the other out, just two people drowning in each other’s panic. he says “why do you always do this?”you scream “why don’t you care enough?”
you call him cold. manipulative. broken. he tells you you’re crazy. too much. impossible. and then you’re both sobbing, curled up in the hallway, whispering “i didn’t mean it.”
jealousy is brutal. he looks at someone too long — you’re spiraling. you talk to someone else — he shuts down completely. neither of you know how to handle the fear of being replaced.
silence is a weapon and a punishment. when he shuts down it feels like abandonment. when you go quiet it’s because you want him to beg you to stay. neither of you know how to ask for love directly, so you withhold it.
you destroy each other and then bandage the wounds.
⏜︵ BIPOLAR. 𐂯
he lives for your manic highs.
when you’re manic, you’re everything he craves, fast, fearless, chaotic, alive. you talk a mile a minute. you touch him constantly. you pull him into ideas, into danger, into motion. he’s addicted to it.
follows you everywhere like a shadow, wild-eyed, smiling like this is what love’s supposed to feel like. you make him feel chosen. he forgets you’re burning out until the crash hits.
the lows devastate him. when the mania fades, and you’re quiet, distant, numb — he doesn’t know what to do. he takes it personally even when he shouldn’t.
you stop laughing at his jokes, and he thinks they don’t love me anymore. you sleep all day, and he thinks i broke them. he doesn’t mean to make it about himself — he’s just scared. he’s never good at stillness.
starts tracking your patterns. notices when your speech speeds up, when you don’t sleep, when your ideas start getting bigger and riskier.
he notices when you go flat. start pulling away. lose your appetite. he won’t always say something, but he’s watching. when he does speak up, it’s never “are you okay?” it’s “you’re going fast again. is it time to slow down?”
sometimes you love him for it. sometimes you hate him for it. he always takes the blow.
when you're manic, he tries to keep up — but he gets lost in you. you start a hundred projects. rearrange furniture at 2am. plan road trips you’ll never take. he says yes to all of it. not because he agrees — because he wants to ride the wave with you. you’re radiant. unstoppable.
but deep down, he’s waiting for the moment it turns. and when it does, he breaks with you.
he struggles with your depression. doesn't understand how you go from lighting up a room to barely getting out of bed. he wants to help. he needs to help. but he doesn’t know how. brings coffee. puts on your favourite movie. sits at the edge of the bed and quietly says, “you were laughing last monday. i miss that.” it’s not a guilt trip. it’s a confession.
you spend too much money. say the wrong thing to the wrong person. disappear for hours without answering. it freaks him out. not because he doesn’t understand — because he does. he’s impulsive too. he’s self-destructive. he knows what it’s like to lose control. when you spiral it scares the hell out of him.
he loves your fire but fears your collapse. when you’re loud, wild, electric, he worships it. when you’re low, unreachable, quiet, he feels helpless. the duality confuses him. hurts him.
he's bad at stability but he's loyal, he’ll never be the calm type who knows exactly what to say. but he won’t leave. not when you cry. not when you break. he’ll stay in the mess.
the moment you start rising again he’ll be the first one to hold your face and whisper, “there you are.”
sometimes your mania and his instability clash hard. you’re too fast. he’s too reactive. you say something impulsive. he takes it as rejection. he lashes out. you spiral harder. fights get nuclear. you both say things you regret.
the manic episodes sometimes turns on both of you. he’s always in love with it at first. your energy is infectious. you’re glowing. talking fast, touching him constantly, laughing in that way that makes him feel like the only person alive. you pull him into impulsive ideas, road trips, new furniture, wild sex, quitting your job. at first he’s high on you.
but then you stop sleeping. you stop eating. you snap at him for “slowing you down.” you disappear for hours, come back wired and shaking. he tries to intervene, gently at first. “baby, you haven’t stopped in two days.”
you scream at him. accuse him of controlling you. “you’re scaring me.” he whispers, and you laugh. then the crash hits. you cry for hours, inconsolable, paranoid, terrified.
the depressive episode where you push him out. you haven’t moved from bed in two days. he brings you water. you don’t drink it. he tries to touch you, you flinch. your eyes are hollow. voice flat. you say things like “you should leave. i’m not good for you.” it rips him apart. you try to be cruel — not because you mean it, but because you want to test the bond. his hands shake. his voice cracks. he stays. sits on the floor by your bed. you fall asleep with your hand in his hair, barely holding on. he holds back twice as hard.
you try to leave during manic spirals. pack a bag in the middle of the night, tell him you’re going to “start over.” he panics. full-on panic mode. “don’t do this. you don’t know what you’re doing right now.” you’re wild-eyed, stubborn, glowing like fire. “i’m fine. i’ve never felt better.” he knows it’s not true — the fire is burning too hot. you’re not sleeping. not thinking straight. not safe. he tries to grab your hand and you rip away. “you’re trying to control me. you’re just like everyone else.” he lets you go. but not far. he tracks your location. texts every hour. waits for the moment you crash. hopes for it to be soon.
⏜︵ PSYCHOPATHIC. 𐂯
at first, dex doesn’t realize. he’s completely pulled in by your intensity, your control, the way you look at the world like you’ve already figured it out. he mistakes it for strength.
but slowly, the edges start to show. the way you fake empathy like it’s a language you learned, not something you feel. how you manipulate people with surgical precision just to see what happens. it both unnerves and fascinates him—like watching someone dissect a soul with a smile.
if you’re violent, it does something to him. he’s terrified and completely obsessed. you don’t lash out like him, you hurt people on purpose, with a clear head. you don’t spiral, you choose.
you’re not his anchor in the traditional sense. you don’t ground him, you pull him further. not with softness, but with gravity. you become his obsession, not his comfort. he craves your attention like it’s oxygen, even when he knows it might kill him.
arguments aren’t loud. they’re cold, calculated, full of psychological traps. you know how to cut deep without raising your voice. when he loses control, you don’t flinch. you just watch, and it drives him mad because you’re not afraid of him, not moved by him. he needs to matter to you.
if you threatened to leave or humiliate him, he could absolutely snap. he might hurt you, not because he wants to, but because his emotions run so violently high he can’t stop them. when it’s over he’ll break down in front of you, begging, bleeding, apologizing like a child caught in a nightmare.
your lack of emotional response becomes addicting to him. you’re the only one who doesn’t recoil when he shows his worst. you don’t comfort him, but you don’t abandon him either. you stay. and in his mind, that’s love, even if it’s not.
if you manipulate him, he lets you. he wants so badly to be important to you that he’ll twist himself into whatever shape you want. kill for you. lie for you. destroy himself and everyone else if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.
dex doesn’t know how to love in a healthy way, and you don’t love in the traditional sense at all, so what you have isn’t so much a relationship as it is a collision. you don’t comfort him, you study him. he mistakes that focus for affection.
when you compliment him, it’s rare, but when you do, it’s calculated. it hits him like a drug. he spirals, obsessed with earning another one. he starts doing things not because they’re right, but because he thinks it’ll make you look at him the way you did that one time.
you encourage the worst in him, not with words, but with your presence. you never tell him not to hurt someone. you just let him make that choice. and when he does, you don’t flinch. you clean the blood off his hands like it’s nothing. and he falls harder.
dex’ jealousy is absolutely feral when it comes to you. he knows you don’t feel attachment the same way he does, and it kills him. every interaction you have with someone else, no matter how meaningless, twists something deep in his chest. he wants to be your one exception, the one person who means something to you.
he constantly tries to pull real emotions out of you. he wants to see you feel something, anything for him. he pushes buttons, breaks things, starts fights just to provoke some proof that he matters. and if you so much as raise your voice or look a little too long he clings to that moment like it's sacred.
when he’s spiraling you don’t try to calm him. you just watch. sometimes that makes him worse, there’s no comfort, no softness, just those cold eyes and that quiet mind. other times it grounds him. you don’t lie. you don’t pretend to care. you just are. and that’s more honest than anything he’s ever had.
he fantasizes about being the only one who truly gets you. the one person you’d kill for, spare for, stay for. he clings to any sign that he’s different to you — more than a pawn, more than a means to an end. he’s desperate to matter.
⏜︵ D.I.D. 𐂯
at first he’s confused. he’s never known anyone with did. he doesn’t understand how one body can hold more than one person, and it messes with his sense of control. he doesn’t like not knowing who he’s waking up next to — at least in the beginning.
but he’s also weirdly respectful. once he realizes the alters are real people, not just “parts,” he starts remembering names, patterns, even small preferences. he’ll write down what snacks each alter likes, what topics to avoid, what calms them down. he treats each one with a kind of soldier-level precision. like, “okay, this is your protocol. i’ve got it.”
he actually feels safer once he gets used to them. he’s so used to his mind being a minefield, and now he’s with someone who’s honest about the chaos. he likes that. he likes that nothing’s hidden, even if it’s messy. he doesn’t have to pretend to be normal around them, because they get it.
he totally has favourites but lies about it. he'll act like he doesn't, but the way he lights up when a certain alter fronts? obvious.
if you have them he's intensely protective of the littles. he doesn’t care how old the body is — if a young alter fronts, he’s instantly softer. he’ll crouch down, lower his voice, offer his jacket if they’re cold. if anyone dares to look at them weird in public, he goes full murder-eyes.
arguments can get intense. especially if an alter doesn’t trust him, or if someone fronts who isn’t aware of his darker side. there might be yelling, slamming doors, confusion. but ben hates leaving things unresolved. he’ll sit outside their door for hours, forehead pressed to the wood, talking through it.
sometimes he does spiral. especially if he thinks he’s hurting them. and that’s the part where it gets complicated — because they’re usually his anchor, his reason to stay human. and when he sees them struggling he doesn’t know how to help. he panics.
it becomes a give and take. sometimes he grounds them. sometimes they ground him.
you prank him sometimes. switch mid-convo and pretend you don't know who he is. act like it’s the first time you’re meeting. he falls for it once, never again. but he plays along anyway. “oh, hey, i’m dex. i kill people for the government. wanna get lunch?”
sometimes, after a bad day, he’ll crawl into bed, wrap himself around you, and whisper, “don’t care who you are right now. just need you. s’that okay?”
⏜︵ ANGER ISSUES. 𐂯
okay first of all, dex is into it. not in a weird fetish-y way, but he’s drawn to fire. always has been. so when you snap? raise your voice? throw something across the room because you feel too much and can’t hold it in? he doesn’t flinch. he relates.
sometimes it’s explosive. you scream, he screams back. neither of you back down. neighbours hate you. walls have been punched. vases broken.
he doesn’t try to “fix” you. that’s important. ben knows what it’s like to be treated like a problem. so when you’re angry, he lets you be. sits with you through the fire. sometimes you’re pacing, yelling, cussing out the world — and he’s just there. arms crossed.
when he’s angry, you’re the only one who can talk him down. you just mirror his fire. you don’t try to quiet him, you match him. “you wanna break something? cool. let’s go smash plates in the backyard.” and you do. and it’s cathartic. you scream together until your voices crack.
but then there are soft moments too. you’ll lash out at the world, storm into the bedroom, slam the door — and he knocks gently before coming in anyway. he’s holding your favourite hoodie. or snacks. or just his stupid face. “done? or you wanna go another round?”
he keeps your triggers memorized like a hit list. people who talk down to you? gone. someone makes a snide comment in public and you start to boil? his hand’s already on the small of your back. grounding. “not worth it, baby. let’s go.” he deals with it later.
there’s this comfort in knowing you’re both made of sharp edges. he’ll cup your face after a rough episode, look you dead in the eye, and say, “you’re not crazy. you’re just loud. i like loud.”
if you feel guilty afterward he doesn’t let you spiral. “you think i love you less because you lost it for a minute? get over yourself.” (and then he holds you like the world’s ending.)
you don’t want to hurt him but sometimes it happens before you can stop it. something small goes wrong, you’re already on edge, and dex says one wrong thing? you explode. words sharp enough to cut, your tone goes nuclear. the second it’s out you hate yourself for it.
dex goes stone cold silent. still. unreadable. it’s the same expression he wears right before he kills someone. and that scares the hell out of you. not because you think he’ll hurt you — but because you know what it means when he shuts down. he doesn't raise his voice back — at first. he just stands there, lets you say what you’re gonna say, and waits. sometimes you storm out. sometimes you break down crying two seconds later. sometimes you both just sit in the wreckage for a while.
when he finally does speak, it’s low and controlled. “you can be mad at the world, but don’t take that shit out on me.” he’s right. and that kills you.
if you snap at him specifically too many times he’ll encourage therapy. not in a pushy, judgmental way — just, “you need help for this. we both do. i’ll go with you if you want.” and sometimes he does. sits in the waiting room with his legs bouncing and a death grip on his phone, waiting to hear how it went.
unfortunately he’s not the best at not taking your words to heart sometimes, and your anger mixed with his bpd can push him into his own episodes.
⏜︵ ADHD. 𐂯
let’s be honest, you drive him kinda crazy. the clutter drives his ocd insane. you leave a cup out and he’s twitching. you abandon five different projects around the apartment and he’s pacing like he’s trying not to commit a crime.
silently starts cleaning. aggressively. like wiping down surfaces at 2am with murder in his eyes. "i'm not mad at you. i just need this fork to not be facing that way."
at first it causes friction. you feel judged, he feels overwhelmed. you don’t mean to be messy, it’s just how your brain works. and he doesn’t mean to be controlling, it’s how his brain survives. it takes a few fights, a lot of deep talks, and one shared therapist before you both find a rhythm.
eventually, he creates “safe zones.” like: “this drawer? chaos zone. do whatever you want in there. but the bathroom counter is sacred. do not mess with my system.” and you’re like, “deal. but i get one chair to pile my stuff on. non-negotiable.”
he builds you routines to help you function. not in a patronizing way — more like, i know how your brain forgets things. let me make it easier.
you stim with his hand. absentmindedly running your fingers over his knuckles or nails when you’re anxious. he pretends it annoys him, but if you stop, he’ll nudge you, “you good? keep doing the thing.”
whiteboards, timers, little checklists. he even sets your meds next to your phone so you can’t miss them. “you don’t need to say thank you. just take them.”
your impulsivity stresses him out but also fascinates him. you buy random shit on a whim, change plans last minute, jump into conversations without thinking. and ben’s like: “…you terrify me. but also i’ve never been bored since i met you.”
he gets flustered when you stim by fidgeting with his perfectly organized things. like twisting his pens, re-stacking his books, tapping your foot against his desk. he’ll groan, drag a hand down his face, and give you a fidget toy.
you learn to compromise too. you try harder to put stuff back where it belongs, especially the things he’s sensitive about. not because he makes you, because you love him, and you see how much it costs him to exist in disorder.
sometimes you have really hard days, executive dysfunction, sensory overload, total burnout. you end up on the floor in a pile of blankets and regret. dex lies down next to you. hands you a snack.
he’s never annoyed by your forgetfulness. just quietly compensates. always has your meds ready. always keeps water nearby. always says, “yes, i heard that story before. tell me again anyway.”
he becomes your executive function. you forget appointments, lose your keys, double-book your day? he’s already fixed it. didn’t even tell you. you’re like, “wait, wasn’t i supposed to—”and he stops you before you can finish. “handled it.” he doesn’t want credit. he just wants you to breathe.
your hyperfixations become his hobbies. you’re into puzzles this week? cool, he’s suddenly better at them than you and weirdly smug about it. laser-focused. you’re into baking? you catch him at 2am measuring flour like he’s assembling a rifle.
you help him too. when his rituals become obsessive, when he’s cleaning the counter for the fifth time in ten minutes and whispering under his breath, you come up behind him, gently take the rag from his hand and guide him to sit with you.
you make his world less sterile. it’s not all white walls and symmetrical furniture anymore. there’s colour. life. movement. and yeah, it’s messy. but so is love.
★ a / n : if anyone feels poorly represented lmk and i can take this down :)
started 4.24.2025. finished 4.24.2025.
( masterlist. )
©️ monicfever 2025
