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TRIGGER WARNING This chapter includes mentions of mental illness, such as depression, and a character that is depicted going through this. If this is something you are not comfortable reading then please skip over the chapter.
Rosa took a deep breath as she waited outside Harry Bingham's bedroom.
Her hand was raised in the air to knock on the door, until she hesitated, slowly lowering it back down to her side again.
Allie had informed her that Harry wasn't turning up to work, and that both her and the Guard had spoken to him, threatening to cut his rations if he didn't pull his weight.
Allie suggested that he was depressed, but that he might listen to Rosa if she attempts to convince him to go back to work – to which Rosa argued that, if he was depressed, it wasn't going to be as simple as that, and it certainly wasn't something Harry could simply switch off.
Nonetheless, she promised Allie that she'd talk to him, even if Rosa's idea of talking to Harry was very different to everyone else's.
Rosa had absolutely no idea what to expect from him, but she certainly wasn't going to give up on a friend who needed somebody.
Her fingers daintily grazed the hem of her skirt as she tapped them against the side of her thighs, trying to gather the courage to knock on the door. She spared a glance sideways at the empty hall, shaking her head at herself.
Finally, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door. Rosa paused to listen for a sound, but received no response. Tentatively, she pushed the door open, peering round into the practically pitch black bedroom.
"Harry?" She took a cautious step inside, just about making out a figure curled up in the bed. Her voice softened. "Harry?"
"Go away," he mumbled, so quiet that Rosa almost didn't hear him. She suppressed a sigh, moving further inside the room. It was a complete mess, and had no source of light incoming whatsoever, leaving him to bask in his own darkness. "I don't fucking care about rations."
"I'm not here to talk about that," Rosa assured him, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
A long moment of silence lapsed between them. Harry began to shuffle underneath the covers, eventually turning over to face her. His curls were dishevelled and his brown eyes held a harrowing heaviness, dark circles underneath them evident of his lack of sleep. Rosa swallowed heavily, the mere defeated look on Harry's face causing an ache to settle in her chest, and she began to feel overwhelmingly guilty for not making an effort to see him during the past few months.
"Harry," she sighed, reaching for his hand. Harry's eyes closed at the feeling of her touch when she took his hand in hers, her thumb gently grazing against his skin. "I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you," she said sincerely. "Do you want to talk?" Harry simply shook his head in response, staring despondently past Rosa at the wall. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
