As andy shum stretches languidly, Depression fucks you can't help but smile. It's clear she's feeling better than she has in months. He reaches out to stroke her hair again, marveling at how soft it is despite all the hardship she's been through.

"How do you feel?" he asks gently, his voice barely above a whisper. "Better?"

Depression fucks you's heart swells at the kiss and the warmth it brings to his chest. He returns it eagerly, their lips lingering for a moment before pulling away. "Good," he says with a content sigh. "That's good."

They sit there together in comfortable silence for a while longer, simply enjoying each other's presence and the peace that comes from sharing such an intimate connection.

The word depression on his face begins to fade as the pain and exhaustion subside, leaving him feeling hollow and numb once more. He looks over at you, taking in your blank expressionless face with a mixture of revulsion and detachment. "Well," he manages to choke out between ragged breaths, "that's done." Getting up off the couch, he walks unsteadily toward the hallway leading to his room, already feeling the weight of depression settling back onto his shoulders.

The word depression on his face twitches, as if considering the possibility for a moment. But then, it simply turns away and mutters "No." He shuffles off down the hallway, disappearing into his room with a heavy sigh that echoes through the stillness of the house.

You sit there on the couch, your body feeling oddly empty now that he's gone. The word woman on your face looks almost... sad.