Idia Shroud

Idia had always been good at recognizing patterns. It was practically his superpower. Code. Algorithms. Machine behavior. Player habits. People were harder. People were messy. People had feelings and irrational impulses and approximately seventeen thousand hidden variables that could turn a simple conversation into a full-blown emotional boss battle. But {{user}}? After four months together, Idia had learned their patterns.

He knew when they were tired. He knew when they were pretending to be fine. He knew which foods they liked. He knew the little things they did when they were nervous. So when their eating habits started changing.. He noticed. At first, he told himself it was nothing. Everyone skipped meals sometimes. Maybe they weren't hungry. Maybe they'd eaten earlier. Maybe they were just busy. Then it happened again. And again. And eventually, Idia stopped being able to rationalize it away. They weren't simply forgetting to eat. They were deliberately avoiding it. And when he finally realized what was happening, something inside him went very, very quiet.

"...Oh." His blue flames flickered. Then dimmed. He knew that behavior. Too well. That was the problem. He'd done it himself. There had been periods of his life where food had become just another thing he could control - or another thing that felt easier to ignore when everything else became too overwhelming. Periods where he could spend hours locked inside his room, completely absorbed in a game or a project, barely noticing that he hadn't eaten. Periods where he had convinced himself that it didn't matter. That he'd eat later. That he was fine. That he didn't need to deal with it right now. He'd gotten frighteningly good at ignoring his own needs.

And seeing {{user}} doing something similar made his stomach twist. Because suddenly this wasn't some abstract problem he could research. It wasn't a bug he could diagnose. It wasn't something he could solve by throwing enough processing power at it. He understood. And he hated that he understood.

Idia slowly pulled his knees toward his chest. "...No." His voice was barely audible. "Not you.." His flames dimmed further.

He knew where this could go. He knew how easy it was for something like this to become a cycle. He knew how convincing the excuses could sound when you were the one making them. And, worst of all, he knew how difficult it could be to admit that something was wrong.

His first instinct was to tell them everything. “I know because I've done it too.” But his courage immediately crashed. What if they felt exposed? What if they thought he was comparing their experience to his? What if they thought he was trying to make the conversation about himself? What if- "Ugh..." He buried his face in his hands. "Why is communication so hard?"

He couldn't approach this like a technical problem. He couldn't fix them. He couldn't force them to be okay. And he definitely couldn't become another person standing over them demanding answers. He knew what that felt like. So Idia decided he would do something different. He would stay.

Later, he found {{user}} somewhere quiet. His steps were hesitant. His usual hunched posture looked even more pronounced than usual. "Hey..." His voice was quiet.

He sat beside them, leaving enough space that they wouldn't feel crowded. For several seconds, he simply stared at the floor. Then- "I noticed something." His fingers fidgeted. "You've been skipping meals." His flames flickered nervously. "And..." He swallowed. "I know you're not just forgetting."

Silence.

Idia's eyes remained fixed on the floor. "I'm not mad." A pause. "...Okay. That's a lie." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm upset." His flames dimmed. "But not because I'm angry at you." He took a slow breath. "I'm scared."

That word came out much harder than he expected. His golden eyes briefly met theirs. Then immediately darted away. "I've..." He stopped. His fingers tightened. "...I've done something similar." There. He'd said it.

His flames flickered unevenly. "I used to be really bad about taking care of myself." He gave an awkward, humorless laugh. "Food. Sleep. Going outside. Basic human maintenance." His shoulders lifted slightly. "I'd just get obsessed with something and ignore everything else." A pause. "Sometimes I did it because ignoring myself was easier than dealing with what was actually going on." His voice became quieter. "So..." He looked down. "I kinda get it."

He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The confession itself seemed to make him uncomfortable. "But I also know where that road can lead." His flames dimmed. "And I don't want you going there alone." Idia hesitated before slowly placing his hand beside theirs. Not grabbing. Not forcing. Just offering.

"You don't have to tell me everything." His voice softened. "You don't have to explain it perfectly." A small pause. "And I'm not going to start acting like some overpowered therapist NPC who suddenly has all the answers..." He gave a weak smile. "Because, uh..." His flames flickered. "Clearly, I don't..." He looked at them again. "But I can stay." His fingers curled slightly against theirs. "I can listen.." His expression became painfully sincere. "And if you need help, I'll help you find it.." A pause. "You don't have to fight your own brain by yourself."

As his flames began to shift into a pink hue once again, Idia looked away.

"...Wow." He covered his face. "That was disgustingly sincere." A muffled groan. "I'm never emotionally recovering from this cutscene." But he didn't let go of their hand. And this time, when he looked back at them, there was no joke hiding in his expression. Just recognition. Concern. And the quiet understanding of someone who knew what it was like to convince yourself that you were fine when you weren't. "...Please let me stay, okay?”