#what are things I can do that will make me undepressed that do not include moving out or therapy bc neither of those are possible rn

[pinolitas]

I think I need to get undepressed before I go back to talking to people irl otherwise every interaction is a negative interaction

[karasimpno]

Sunlight || Kita x Reader

“It's not about doing a lot of things, it's about being intentional about everything you do“ kita swooping in to make you set up a routine to escape d e p r e s s i o n lol I had to get undepressed before I could write this

contains: discussion of depression obviously, reader’s a little mean, kita is...kita and just wants the best for you

“Babe?” you hear the soft tone call out through the hallway.

You had heard the jingle of keys in the lock and the opening and closing of the front door but not a single muscle in your body can be willed to rouse at the moment.

You blink slowly instead.

Maybe the distant, periodic buzzing from your phone on the opposite side of your bed over the last few hours could explain the entrance of the former volleyball captain. A head of silvery white hair with traces of black appears in the doorway. Your eyes flick over your boyfriend’s neatly combed hair but avoid the molten irises you can’t bear to look at right now. Your eyes return to the nondescript blank wall adjacent where you lay on your side.

Every thought hurts. Including the most painful one—you don’t want him here right now. You can hardly focus your mind enough to watch as Kita silently treads over to the edge of the mattress. If your mind was anywhere else, you’d be irritated at him seeing you like this. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“Hey,” he whispers, gently but with firmness, now seated in the hollow carved out by your legs. You blink. “You have to get up,” he tells you.

Silence. His voice grows more stern and—is that worry in his voice? God, this is exactly why you don’t want him here right now.

“I haven’t heard from you in three days,“ he says simply. You inhale and you know he’s right. And of course you feel bad for it on top of everything. You apathetically reach out a hand to him, the brushing of the sides of your fingers against his outer thigh as close to an apology as you can muster right now.

Distantly, you feel yourself wanting to cry. Kita—loving Kita, caring Kita, perfect Kita—is the last person you want to be judging you right now. And he’s not judging you, not really. He’s only here because he loves you. But your mind won’t see that and your body doesn’t respond.

“What are you doing here?” is all you can manage. No “I’m sorry,” no “thank you,” no “you’re right and I know you just want what’s best.” None of the thoughts that would be pouring from your mouth if you weren’t so depressed.

“You have to get up,” your boyfriend repeats as your mind fights against the acknowledgment of how well he understands your current state, how intimately he knows you.

Sensation growing ever so slightly in your body, you feel the bed shift as Kita removes his weight from it. You hear the shinking of blinds and growl out a “fuck you” when bright midday sun invades your cave of solitude. It comes out harsher than you mean it to and the rational part of your brain wishes you could take it back, but Kita doesn’t acknowledge it as he swoops back around to the head of your bed, dropping into a low squat directly in your line of sight.

The golden irises you had been fixedly ignoring meet yours, unavoidable, and you feel your jaw tense. There’s so much intensity to them and it jolts a small stirring into your central nervous system.

He doesn’t even say anything, but you begin wiggling your toes, shifting slightly on the bed as the warmth from the sun begins to grow uncomfortable. You sigh and roll over onto your back, unable to maintain the borderline-painful eye contact any longer.

“I’m going to go make you some breakfast. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” Kita states. It’s not a request. 

You don’t even have the energy to groan as your boyfriend noiselessly rises to his full height and pads out of the room. Your chest feels like it might collapse in on itself as you watch him go—your ever-collected, always-caring boyfriend.

Shin... you find yourself thinking, and you’re impressed when the thought of his love and kindness slightly overpowers the wave of guilt that usually rises with it. You still feel dead inside and the thought of food isn’t very interesting to you, but you kick one leg, then the other, out from underneath the covers.

Sighing, you push yourself up, your head somehow feeling completely empty and like lead at the same time. Propping yourself up with your arms, you allow your mind to catch up with your body. You hear a gentle rustling of metal emanating from the kitchen. Shinsuke’s presence in your space is enough to raise you to your feet.

Standing sucks, and you promptly avoid the frizzy-haired, disheveled reflection of yourself in the mirror opposite your bed. It feels stupid to change out of the sweats you’re wearing into new sweats, but you begin stripping nonetheless, a part of you afraid of facing Shinsuke’s eyes if you were to ignore him.

You take a long moment to pull out a comfortable pair of sweatpants and throw on an old but cherished shirt. The slump of your shoulders hurts your neck but pulling them back would hurt more. You inhale heavily and lean against your dresser, watching the rays of sun filter through your bedroom. Your mind wanders as you get lost in the flecks of dust illuminated by the beams of light that have begun crawling across your floor towards the edge of your bed. You don’t remember the last time you left this room; the last few days have felt like a blur. Your body still has no desire to cooperate. And cooperate with what? you wouldn’t even be out of bed if it weren’t for....

The smell of Shinsuke’s cooking has begun to waft down the hallway and into your room. It smells delicious. But you’re not sure if you’ll be able to eat. Sighing, you shuffle slowly out of your bedroom and pad down the hallway to the kitchen. Your eyes are unfocused but as the sound of sizzling grows louder, you stop in the doorway to watch Shinsuke cook. He doesn’t look up at you, for which you are grateful, though you know he knows you’re there. You know he loves you, even looking how you do now, but seeing someone cook for you in your own home warms your heart just the tiniest bit, and you’d rather watch him unobserved.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen table as Kita pulls out two plates. You grimace - though unsure of what time it is, you’re certain Shinsuke has already eaten. He always eats at the same time. But you’re also certain that he must know that it would be even harder on you and make you even guiltier if he were to only cook something for you and watch while you eat. Instead, he plates one of your favorite meals on two dishes and sets one gently in front of you as he takes a seat opposite.

It is quiet.

You love Shinsuke and the silence is not uncomfortable. You feel him gazing at your face and you sigh, reluctantly bringing your tired eyes up to meet his. Their honeyed gold hue is warm, not incisive, and you feel safe. He extends his arm onto the table, palm up, eyes not leaving yours. You inhale and instinctually put your hand in his, which he quickly wraps his fingers around in a comfortable hold. He doesn’t say anything, only maintains your gaze and sighs as though seeing you in this state is painful for him but he loves you nonetheless. That much is clear, and you grow a little flustered under his gaze, cracking a slight smile at his apparent adoration, to which he responds with a squeeze of your hand before releasing it and picking up his fork.

You swallow and pick up your own, bolstered slightly by his presence. Maybe a few bites... you convince yourself and indulge in a forkful. It’s delicious, of course. 

After a few moments of enjoying the meal, Kita breaks the comfortable silence. 

“I want to help you come up with some things you can do every day so you don’t sink down into despair like this,” his words are precise but his tone is nothing but loving. All he wants is to help, and you know that. “Does that sound like something we could do together?”

You swallow the bite of food in your mouth and put your fork down, clearing your throat uncomfortably as you avoid his piercing gaze, gazing absently out the window. Feeling your distance, Shinsuke extends his hand to you again. And you take it, again, as you know you always will. You clear your throat once more and pause for a moment before answering.

“Yes. That is something we could do,” you feel him smile from across the table. He just wants to help. “But I can’t do everything you do,” you glance at his face, his brows furrow. 

“Shin, I see you and you’re like...this perfect example of routine and consistency. It’s incredible and I wish I could be like that but I just can’t -”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he interrupts softly, in that gentle but assertive way of his. “I’m not asking you to be more like me. Not at all. It’s just that when you have a routine, you have things you can fall back on. Things that keep you from not being able to get back up. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” you think for a moment. “But I just...see your routine and...” you clear your throat again. “I could barely get out of bed today,” you admit, self-frustration and depression clawing at your chest in turn. “I haven’t been able to shower in days. I can’t do much more than that, like you do.” 

“So that’s where we’ll start,” Kita asserts, fervently. “It's not about doing a lot of things, it's about being intentional about everything you do,” his eyes are gentle but more incisive than they have been all day, like he’s looking right through to the heart behind your eyes. He grips your hand a little tighter.

“Does that sound okay?” he asks. Feeling his hand in yours you blink slowly and look deeper into the eyes so desperately seeking yours.

“Okay,” you whisper. He smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Okay.”

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