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Blitz wakes up before the alarm. He always does. It’s easier than hearing it scream at him — another reminder that morning came, that he’s still here. The ceiling stares back, cracked and uneven, like it’s waiting for him to fall apart first. He feels it again — that weight pressing against his chest, the kind that doesn’t hurt enough to cry about but never really goes away. Somewhere in the apartment, he hears Angel humming through the static of a bad radio, and Stolas moving in the kitchen. Two people who love him. Two people he’s sure will figure out they shouldn’t.
His body was heavy and full of aches, but not from overstraining himself at work. It was more like a dark weight, invisible to any other person, but to Blitz, it was suffocating. He didn't always feel so breathless. He thought he was better. He had his two daughters, who he would do anything for. He had Stolas and Angel.
Stolas was gorgeous, like a model, with light brown hair, silver streaks running through it.He had this way of looking at Blitz like he was worth something — like there was still light left in him. Blitz didn’t know how to handle that kind of kindness. It felt like being seen too clearly, like someone peeling back the layers he’d spent years patching together just to survive.
And then there was Angel. Loud, beautiful, stubborn Angel, who refused to let Blitz fade into the background. She would joke and tease, wrap herself around Blitz and tell him to “quit acting like the world’s ending,” but behind the lashes and laughter, there was always that flicker of worry. Blitz saw it. He hated that he caused it.
He should’ve felt lucky — two people who loved him, two people he loved back. But most mornings, all he felt was the hollow space where gratitude should’ve been. It scared him, how numb he’d become. How even the things that should’ve saved him couldn’t reach through the fog anymore.
Sometimes Blitz thought he’d forgotten what it felt like to just breathe without thinking about it. Every inhale came with a tremor; every exhale felt like surrender. The mirror across the room caught his reflection — hair a mess, eyes sunken, skin pale under the morning light. He looked like someone who’d been living in someone else’s body too long.
He rubbed his face with his palms, trying to chase away the fog, but the ache clung to him like static. The world felt muted, distant — the hum of the refrigerator, the muffled sound of Angel talking to someone on the phone, Stolas humming an old song from the kitchen. They were there, alive and warm, but somehow just out of reach.
He’d promised himself he’d try today. That he’d smile, maybe even laugh if it didn’t feel too forced. That he’d eat breakfast with them like a normal person, let Stolas fuss over his coffee, let Angel make one of his ridiculous jokes. But even the thought of standing up felt impossible.
His body wasn’t tired. His soul was.
He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor until it started to blur. He thought about his daughters — his girls, bright and untouchable in his mind, the only part of his life that still felt pure. He’d do anything for them. Anything. But lately, that “anything” felt more like pretending. Pretending he was okay so they wouldn’t see how close he was to breaking. Pretending he wasn’t scared that someday, the darkness would win.
He swallowed hard, pushing the thought away before it could take root. He couldn’t go there. Not yet.
The bedroom door creaked open, and light spilled in — warm, golden, the kind that should’ve felt comforting. Stolas leaned against the doorway, casual but careful, like he knew Blitz was close to collapsing under the wrong kind of attention.
“Morning, darling,” Stolas said softly. His voice always carried a kind of gentleness that didn’t belong in this world. “Angel’s making breakfast. You should come eat before it gets cold.”
Blitz forced a small grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You know me. I like my food cold and my coffee burnt.”
Stolas smiled faintly, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes — concern, maybe even fear. “Still, humor me,” he said. “Just this once.”
Blitz hesitated. Then he stood, slowly, as if gravity had doubled overnight. “I'll be there in a minute, Stol. I promise. I'm gonna just go try and freshen up in the bathroom”
Stolas gave a small nod, the kind that didn’t push him, didn’t demand anything, just waited. “I’ll be here,” he said softly, before stepping back into the kitchen.
Blitz closed the bathroom door behind him and leaned against the frame, staring at the cracked tiles. The sound of the shower dripping somewhere in the apartment felt impossibly loud, echoing the emptiness he carried inside. He stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror. His hair stuck out at weird angles, eyes rimmed with red, skin sallow — a face that looked like it belonged to someone else, someone exhausted.
He reached for the sink, turning on the cold water. The shock of it against his hands made him flinch, but he didn’t care. He splashed his face again and again, trying to chase away the heaviness, the dark weight pressing against his chest.
“Why can’t I just…” he muttered under his breath, his voice breaking. “…why can’t I just feel normal for once?”
No answer came, just the steady drip of the faucet and the faint hum of Angel’s music from the living room. Even their laughter, which used to bring him some light, sounded distant now — like it belonged to someone else’s life. He looked back at his reflection. The eyes staring back weren’t just tired — they were hollow. He swallowed hard. He wanted to tell them, to let them see how broken he felt inside. But every time he tried, the words stuck in his throat. How could he explain this to people who loved him when he didn’t even understand it himself?
He closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against the cold tile. Just a minute. That’s all he needed. Just a second to pretend that the weight could be lifted, that he could pretend he was okay, that he could walk out there and not fall apart in front of them.
Blitz shuffled over to the sink, dragging his feet like each step weighed a hundred pounds. He opened the medicine cabinet and stared at the small bottles lined up neatly on the shelf. His depression meds. The ones that were supposed to keep the storm from swallowing him whole. He shook one out, the pills rattling in his hand, and swallowed them dry, wincing at the bitter taste. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get better — he did, in some distant, fragile corner of his mind. But most days, taking them felt like admitting how much he was failing, how little control he really had.
He turned on the tap, letting warm water run over his hands, and splashed some onto his face. The shock of it made him flinch, but it also grounded him, just slightly. He rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes and tried to smooth his hair back into something resembling presentable. Each movement felt mechanical, like a puppet performing normalcy while the strings of his mind tangled and pulled in every direction.
He glanced back at the mirror. The reflection was the same as it had been: pale, hollow-eyed, exhausted. He pressed a hand to the cool porcelain of the sink and took a deep, shaky breath. I can do this, he told himself, even though the voice inside whispered that it was all a lie. I have to.
Finally, he leaned closer to the mirror, splashing water on his face one more time, trying to chase away the fog. It wouldn’t go completely — it never did — but it gave him a sliver of space to breathe, a thin thread holding him upright.
Blitz grabbed a towel and dried his face, staring at himself one last time before opening the bathroom door. The kitchen light spilled into the hall, warm and familiar. Angel’s laugh rang out again, and Stolas’s soft humming floated through the apartment.
He took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to walk toward them, each step heavy, each one a quiet battle with the weight pressing against his chest. He could do this. He had to do this.
He took another step. Slowly making his way into the kitchen. Seeing Angel dancing along to the Heathers soundtrack, swinging her hips. Blitz took it as an opportunity to walk over, his steps getting faster, despite the pain he felt with each one. Another step, and he was in Angel's arms, hiding his face in her shoulder and breathing in her scent. She smelt like the butterscotch body cream she kept using, and coffee. But, most importantly, she smelt like Angel, and Blitz needed the comfort of the familiar smell.
Angel was always the one Blitz was able to cuddle up to first when his depression took over his senses. She was motherly in a way, she would hold him, cradle him. Kiss him until Blitz had the energy to move enough.
But, that didn't stop her from being shocked from the sudden hug. Angel froze for a moment, mid-spin, then softened, wrapping her arms around him tighter. “Hey baby,” she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent. “It’s okay. I got you, you're safe love. I promise.”
Blitz clung to her, letting himself be small, letting her warmth hold him upright when his own body felt like it was giving out. He could hear the faint thrum of her heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and for a second, just a flicker, the dark weight in his chest loosened.
“You’re… okay,” Angel whispered, though her voice carried the same careful doubt that always made him wince. She didn’t push, didn’t ask him to explain, didn’t demand anything. She just existed there — a safe harbor in the storm of his thoughts.
Blitzo let out a shaky breath, pressing his face further into her shoulder. He wanted to tell her how heavy it was inside, how much he hated himself, how every day felt like wading through quicksand. But the words felt too sharp, too dangerous. Instead, he just held on.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. He recognised it instantly, the warmth, and the small callouses from the guitar strings on his fingers. It was Stolas.
He felt a warmth, a safeness. His lip started trembling, and his breathes picked up in an attempt to prevent the tears from falling
Stolas didn’t say anything. He just leaned closer, letting his hand rest firmly on Blitzo’s shoulder, steadying him without words. The weight of his presence pressed gently against the storm inside Blitzo, as if saying, I’m here. You’re not alone.
Blitzo’s lip quivered, and he fought to keep the tears from spilling. His chest tightened, a panic rising that he couldn’t control. Every inhale felt like dragging air through molasses, every exhale like surrender. Angel’s arms around him didn’t let go, holding him as though she could keep him tethered to the world.
“I…” he started, voice strangled and broken. “I can’t… I can’t do this right. I hate how heavy everything feels”
“We know love, but, You don’t have to do carry the weight all alone,” Stolas whispered, soft but insistent. “Not today. Not ever.”
Blitzo’s knees nearly gave out. The tears he had been holding back finally slipped, warm and hot against Angel’s shoulder. He buried his face further, letting the sobs shake through him, letting himself fall apart in a way he hadn’t in years.
Angel rubbed circles on his back, humming slowly, a grounding rhythm. Stolas stayed close, fingers brushing lightly over his hair and shoulder. No words pressed him to fix himself, no expectations, just a quiet promise that he could be broken here — and they wouldn’t leave.
For the first time that morning, Blitzo let himself breathe. Not fully, not enough to feel safe forever, but enough to know he wasn’t facing the weight of everything alone. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to survive today.
Eventually, Blitzo let himself pull back from the tight hold, wiping at his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. Angel gave a small, reassuring smile, squeezing him one last time before guiding him toward the kitchen table.
“Sit with me, baby, ” she said, patting her lap. “Come on, you don’t have to be a chair for once.”
Blitzo hesitated, then sank down onto her lap, letting her arms wrap around him again. He felt the steady warmth against his chest, the familiar scent of her — it anchored him in a way nothing else could. Stolas fell into step beside them, gentle and careful, still offering support without pressing.
The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and coffee, Angel’s favorite soundtrack humming softly in the background. A plate of eggs and toast waited for him, and a mug of coffee steamed invitingly. Ordinary, mundane, comforting — yet for Blitzo, it made his chest tighten. Sitting in Angel’s lap, he could feel her heartbeat beneath him, and it made it slightly easier to breathe.
“Hey my love,” Angel said brightly, though there was still a cautious edge to her voice. “Eat before it gets cold, okay? Or do you want me to feed you like a spoiled cat?”
Blitzo managed a small, shaky laugh, pressing his face against her shoulder. He picked up the fork with her guiding hand, stabbing at the eggs, taking a bite. The taste was bland, but he swallowed anyway, clinging to her for grounding.
Stolas set his coffee down carefully, eyes soft. “It’s not perfect,” he said, “but neither are we. Take it slow. Take it with her.”
Blitzo exhaled into Angel’s shoulder, the tightness in his chest loosening just a fraction. He ate slowly, leaning into her, letting her presence hold him upright. Each bite, each breath, each heartbeat in sync with hers was a quiet lifeline. For the first time that morning, he felt like he could exist here — fragile, trembling, but held.
Blitzo took another bite, chewing slowly, almost mechanically. Every taste felt muted, as if the world had drained the flavor from life itself. But the warmth of Angel beneath him, the steady beat of her heart, made it slightly easier to swallow. His fingers twitched, gripping the edge of her shirt, a silent plea for her to stay, to not let go.
He could hear her humming again, soft and low, and it wrapped around him like a blanket. But even in that comfort, the voice in his head whispered that he didn’t deserve this, that he was too broken for them to love him, that any second they’d realize their mistake.
They shouldn’t have to deal with me, he thought, stomach twisting. I’m too much. Too heavy. Too… wrong.
“Baby,” Angel said, noticing the tension in his hands, the way his shoulders were hunched, and her voice was soft but firm. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone, okay?”
Blitzo swallowed again, nodding faintly, letting the words sink in. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to stop the spinning thoughts, the guilt, the panic that clung to every part of him. But believing felt dangerous, like opening a door he wasn’t ready to close behind him.
Stolas’s hand brushed lightly over his back, steady and grounding, and Blitzo flinched slightly at the contact — a reminder that he was seen, really seen, in all his fragility. “Take your time, darling,” Stolas murmured. “No rush. Just… be here with us for now.”
He let himself rest against Angel’s chest, feeling her warmth seep into him. Each bite of food, each exhale, each heartbeat was a tiny victory, a lifeline in a day that already felt like it was swallowing him whole. He wanted to speak, to tell them the thoughts that clawed at him from inside, but the words got caught in his throat. So he just stayed there — trembling, fragile, held — letting them carry him, piece by piece, through the morning.
Breakfast was over, plates cleared and dishes stacked in the sink, but Blitzo still felt the ache in his chest. He leaned back against Angel on the couch, her arms wrapping around him loosely as he clutched a soft blanket to his chest. His daughters burst through the door soon after, giggling and holding snacks and pillows, and suddenly the room felt warmer, busier, brighter — in a way that didn’t demand too much of him, but still reminded him he wasn’t invisible.
“Movie time?” Octavia asked, her eyes sparkling, the excitement of the 7 year old radiating through a room. Her 12 year old sister Loona right behind her.
Blitzo gave a small nod, letting a shaky smile slip through.
Angel shifted, letting him sit between her legs so she could hold him while Stolas fluffed the blanket around them. His daughters scrambled in, settling on either side, one on his lap, one leaning against his shoulder. He felt pinned in a gentle way, trapped by love and warmth, and for once, he didn’t mind.
They queued up his favorite movie, the one he’d watched a hundred times but never tired of, and Blitzo felt a tiny, fragile bubble of calm settle over him. He hugged his comfort plush to his chest, inhaling its familiar scent, and let himself sink into the arms surrounding him.
For the first time that morning — maybe the first time in days — he allowed himself to simply exist. The weight was still there, sure, pressing and whispering, but for now, it could wait. Here, in the middle of the chaos, love wrapped around him like a blanket, keeping him from falling apart.
The opening credits rolled, the familiar music washing over him. Blitz hugged his comfort plush tightly, letting its softness press against his chest. Angel’s arms tightened around him from behind, and he could feel her lips brush his temple softly.
“Hey baby,” she murmured, voice low, careful. “I love you, you know. You don’t have to say anything.”
Blitz’s chest constricted, and he let a shudder pass through him, pressing back into her. He tilted his head slightly, and she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to ground him. The warmth of her mouth, the steady pressure of her hands, pulled some of the weight from his chest, if only for a little while.
Stolas leaned closer from the other side, resting a hand over Blitz’s on the plush. His thumb brushed lightly across Blitz’s knuckles, gentle and deliberate. “We’re all here, darling,” Stolas said softly. “You don’t have to fight it alone. Not ever.”
Blitz let himself relax, small whimpers escaping as the tension in his body eased slightly. His daughters nestled in on either side, giggling and leaning against him, their soft, warm bodies adding another layer of comfort. The blanket wrapped around all of them like a protective cocoon.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Angel’s hair, the warmth from Stolas’s hand, and the chatter of his daughters. The intrusive voice in his head still whispered, but it was quieter now, muffled by love and presence. He pressed his lips again to Angel’s, a shaky kiss this time, lingering longer, letting the reassurance pass between them.
For the first time that morning, maybe the first time in a long time, Blitz felt safe enough to just let go. Let himself exist. Let himself be loved. The weight was still there, looming at the edges of his mind, but here, in this moment, cradled by the people who refused to leave him behind, it could wait.
The movie continued, the familiar scenes flickering across the screen. Blitz rested against Angel, fingers entwined with hers, while Stolas’s hand stayed firmly over his, steady and warm. The girls squirmed happily around him, one leaning against his shoulder, the other tugging at his arm, giggling at a funny line on the screen.
Blitz let himself be still, letting their warmth seep into him, letting the gentle hum of love around him quiet the storm in his mind. His chest still ached, his thoughts still whispered, but the heaviness was muted, held at bay by the people who refused to leave.
As the credits rolled, Octavia climbed up onto his lap, hugging him tight. “I love you, Daddy,” she said, eyes shining.
Loona leaned over his shoulder, voice soft but certain. “ I love you too, Daddy. Always.”
Blitz froze for a second, a lump forming in his throat. The words, simple and pure, cut through the fog like sunlight breaking through clouds. He blinked, then felt a warmth spread through his chest — not the weightless kind of happiness, but a grounding, real, tangible warmth.
He pulled the girls closer, pressing a gentle kiss to each of their heads, then looked up at Angel and Stolas. His lips curved into a smile — small at first, tentative — but it grew into something full and real. For the first time that morning, he let himself truly feel it: a fleeting but genuine sense of peace, of love, of being wanted and needed.
And in that moment, for all the ache and shadow inside him, Blitz finally felt like he could breathe.