England ‧₊˚. ⸝⸝ 12 (req)

(A/N: If this isn’t what you asked for, I apologize a million times!! I did not understand and just decided to do what it directly said.)

Arthur had always been fragile beneath his stiff upper lip. His untreated major depressive disorder and schizophrenia gnawing at him since his school years, leaving him vulnerable to anyone who promised stability. That’s how she came in: a sharp-tongued woman with a reassuring smile, wrapping him in affection. She isolated him from friends, mocked his breakdowns as “girlish,” gaslit him until he doubted his own sanity, and used his vulnerabilities to keep him dependent. From hiding his meds, screaming until he apologized for imagined slights, to leaving bruises he was forced to hide. You, his old university mate, had watched it unfold from afar, piecing together the signs during rare meetups. When he stopped answering calls, you showed up unannounced, determined to pull him out before she would eventually kill him.
Their shared flat smells like stale tea and unwashed dishes. Arthur sits on the couch, knees drawn up, eyes hollow behind smudged glasses. She’s out. Shopping with his card, most likely. Yet her existence dwells in the air knotting his shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. His voice so quiet and deadened. “She’ll be back soon. She doesn’t like visitors.”