age: 25 (going old for this one)
-
Y/N's POV
"You can't just come into my apartment whenever you feel like it."
"Tell me why you're not at work today."
About two minutes ago, my mom came storming into my small apartment, a worried look about her.
I've been living on my own for three years now, still keeping in close contact with her, but she's just used the spare key she has to come in without knocking or asking.
"How did you-"
"One of your work friends called me. How come you didn't show up today without any explanation?"
"I'm sick," I mumble, not moving a single muscle.
"No, you're not. You always call me the moment you know you're sick. And you didn't, so there's something else going on and I'm not leaving this apartment until you tell me."
Damn her stubbornness.
Like it's her own home, she places herself on my couch, putting her feet up onto my coffee table.
The entirety of the apartment is all open plan, excluding the bathroom, so it's easy for her to just stare at me until I crack.
"I'm just extremely tired, mom. I've not been having great days lately."
With a heavy sigh, she stands up from the sofa and walks over to my bed, perching herself on the end.
"What do you mean by that, Y/N?
WANDA's POV
And then of course she silences. There's only so much vulnerability she'll show, even if I'm her most trusted person.
I know she'll crack eventually, I just have to keep pushing her.
"I don't wanna assume anything," I start, "But you don't seem sick. If you're struggling - again, I'm not assuming... but can you tell me?"
Sometimes she gets like this. Or, she used to. During her late teenage years. She would have a lot of these episodes, depressive ones. And they weren't easy.
Her body and bones would ache so heavily that she couldn't even get out of bed except for necessary things like going to the bathroom. Sometimes not even then, she'd end up wetting her bed from not having the energy to stand.
"Do you think you've been overworking?" I suggest, shuffling over to lay down beside her.
In response, I get a shrug.
"Alright, then mama's just gonna have to check your work schedule," I say with more authority, grabbing her laptop and logging in.
I know her passwords, I always have. Because she's always trusted me to not abuse that information.
"Fucking hell, kid," I mutter as I stare at her timetable, "How are you doing back-to-back day and night shifts? That's not okay, you're gonna be burnt out every day!"
"Stop yelling," she groans, throwing her hand over her forehead.
"I'm not yelling, just shocked... baby, you need to reduce these work hours, this isn't normal. Your body can't keep up."
Instead of her getting annoyed with me, she sits up ever so slightly and repositions herself on my chest.
"I'm tired," she sighs as I wrap my arms around her.
"I know. You're just a human, my love. Treat yourself like one. You're not a machine that can keep going for hours and hours on end until you crash. We need a plan here."
"A plan? Like what?"
I think for a few moments. "Well, I think what would be really great is if we started off with getting you out of this bed and taking a shower. And then I'm gonna call up your work and tell them that you're having the rest of the week off, and then I'm gonna get some food into you. After that, we're rearranging your schedule so that you don't exhaust yourself. Sound good?"
After a minute of contemplation, she nods and snuggles into me further.