Hey doll! Could you write something for slash helping depressed reader
lack - slash x depressed reader
taglist: @davewhore @deluxdollie @tranquilitybasegrunge @thegirlmickmars @onthenighttrain
content: angst, depression, sensitive topics, comfort
The apartment had become a reflection of her internal stare, dim, cluttered, and suffocating. Dust motes danced in the weak shafts of light that managed to penetrate the drawn curtains, illuminating the mess of half-finished art projects and neglected belongings. She hadnât bothered to change out of her oversized grey sweatshirt and worn leggings in three days. The world felt muted, distant, as if she were watching a movie of her own life, detached and powerless.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her even thinking about the effort it would take to simply make a cup of tea. The joy had leached out of everything, leaving behind a hollow ache. Her paintings, once a vibrant expression of her inner world, now lay abandoned, canvases staring back at her like accusing eyes. Her friends had stopped calling, sensing her withdrawal. Even the music sheâd once lived for, the powerful, raw energy of rock and roll, felt hollow and meaningless.
Sheâd been spiraling for weeks, a slow, insidious descent into a darkness that threatened to consume her. It had started with a general lack of motivation, a difficulty getting out of bed. Then came the isolation, the cancelled plans, the unanswered texts. Now, it was just a heavy, oppressive weight, pressing down on her chest, stealing her breath.
Saul had noticed, of course. Heâd been quietly observant, a gentle presence in her life. He didnât push, didnât demand explanations. Heâd started bringing over small things â a worn copy of a Kerouac novel, knowing she loved beat literature; a single, perfect red rose from a local flower shop; a mug of chamomile tea with honey, knowing she preferred it to coffee. Simple gestures that spoke volumes without requiring her to articulate the darkness she was battling.
Today, he found her curled up on the sofa, a crumpled blanket pulled tight around her, staring blankly at the ceiling. She hadnât even bothered to try to pretend she was okay. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, and her usually vibrant energy was extinguished.
He sat down beside her, not too close, respectful of her space. He didnât say anything for a long moment, just sat there, radiating a quiet, comforting energy. The silence wasnât awkward, but filled with a subtle understanding.
âRough day?â he finally asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the room.
She shrugged, unable to muster the energy to speak. A single tear escaped her eye and traced a path down her cheek.
He didnât try to wipe it away. He didnât offer empty reassurances. He simply reached for his battered Les Paul, resting it carefully on his lap. He didnât launch into a flamboyant guitar solo, a display of virtuosity. Instead, he began to strum a slow, melancholic melody, a bluesy tune that seemed to resonate with the sadness in the room.
The music wasnât cheerful, but it wasnât despairing either. It was a lament, a shared acknowledgement of pain. It felt like he was speaking directly to her soul, saying, I see you. I feel you. Youâre not alone.
She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. It was a strange comfort, the familiar sound of his guitar, the weight of his presence beside her. The chords were simple, honest, unpretentious. He wasnât trying to impress her, just offering a piece of himself.
He continued to play for what felt like hours, the music weaving a tapestry of emotion. He played old blues standards, mournful ballads, and even a few original compositions that he hadnât played for anyone else. He didnât try to fix her, didnât offer unsolicited advice or platitudes. He just played, letting the music be her solace.
After a while, he stopped playing. The silence wasnât jarring, but filled with a quiet intimacy.
âYou know,â he said, his voice low, âitâs okay to not be okay.â
She finally looked at him, her eyes red rimmed and swollen. âIt doesnât feel like it.â
âI know,â he said, his gaze unwavering. âIt feels like youâre supposed to be strong, supposed to handle everything. Like anything less is a failure. But sometimes, you just need to⌠fall apart. And thatâs okay. Youâre allowed to feel. Youâre allowed to hurt.â
He reached out and gently took her hand, his touch warm and grounding. His hand was calloused from years of playing guitar, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. âItâs okay to ask for help. Itâs okay to not be able to do this alone.â
She squeezed his hand, a single sob escaping her lips. âI just⌠I donât know how to get better.â
He didnât offer a quick fix, a magical solution. He knew that depression wasnât something you could simply âget over.â Heâd seen friends struggle with it, had battled his own demons in the past.
âThereâs no easy answer,â he said, his voice filled with empathy. âItâs a process. One day at a time. One breath at a time. Weâll figure it out together.â
He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. She leaned into his embrace, allowing herself to be held. The scent of his leather jacket, his cologne, was strangely comforting. It was a safe harbor in the storm raging inside her.
She cried, tears streaming down her face. She didnât try to stop them, didnât feel ashamed. He held her tight, offering nothing but his presence, his warmth, his quiet support.
He didnât ask questions, didnât offer unsolicited advice. He just held her, letting her grieve, letting her release the pain that had been building up inside her. He knew that sometimes, the most powerful thing he could do was simply be present, to offer a safe space for her to feel her pain without judgment.
As she cried, she felt a small measure of relief. The pressure in her chest didnât disappear entirely, but it eased slightly. The darkness didnât lift, but a tiny spark of hope flickered to life. He wasnât trying to fix her, just acknowledging her pain, validating her feelings. And in that moment, that was enough.
He hummed a soft melody, the same one heâd been playing on his guitar, a gentle lullaby that seemed to soothe her soul.
âYouâre incredibly brave, you know,â he whispered, his voice barely audible. âIt takes a lot of courage to let yourself feel, to let yourself be vulnerable.â
She didnât say anything. She just held onto him tighter, letting his strength support her.
He continued to hold her for a long time, until her sobs subsided and she drifted off to sleep, her head resting on his shoulder. He didnât move, didnât want to disturb her. He simply sat there, watching over her, a silent guardian against the darkness.
He knew the road ahead would be long and difficult. But he was there for her, and he would be there for her, every step of the way. He was a rockstar, a legend, a man whoâd seen the world. But in that quiet apartment, holding a broken heart, he was just Saul, offering a simple, profound act of kindness. And that, he realized, was the most important thing of all.
A/N: I hope youâre okay anon<3 if you need anything let me know my dms are always open! This took a while I had to be careful writing this for you<3 hope this helped and sending u lots of kisses
