"Do you understand the confidentiality agreement?"

"Yes."

"Well then, because this is our first session, I'm going to be asking you some simple questions, is that okay with you?"

"Yes."

A shuffling of papers.

"What do you like to do when you're not in school?"

"Walks."

"You like to go for walks?"

"Yes."

The sound of pen on paper.

"What makes you feel happy?"

"Snow." "Does other weather make you sad?"

"Yes."

"Why's that?"

"The snow's gone."

A fake laugh.

"I suppose that makes sense."

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me why you're in my office today?"

"Not really."

"I was hoping you'd say 'yes' again."

"That's too bad."

"You do know that I already know the answer, right?"

A readjustment of feet.

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

He was lead out of the room by a very kind woman who stitched her words in lace and coated them with honey and promises to make his stay comfortable. Jack didn't believe it for a second. He was there to be fixed. He was broken. He'd been broken.

When the soft brown door opened with the label "221" Jack knew he was home. He looked around the strange room and spotted a boy sitting with crossed legs on the bed to the left. He seemed to be drawing something on a large sketch pad at the foot of the bed. Jack couldn't help but notice how awkwardly large the boy's green long-sleeved shirt was. Next, Jack's eyes trailed to his forearms where his sleeve was held to his wrist with a thin brown twine. The boy looked up and the newcomer and his calmed expression fell.

"This is Jack Overland. He'll be your new roommate. Jack, I'll let this one introduce his own name, because I know I'll get it wrong." The woman smiled so warmly Jack felt as if he'd melt.

"Hiccup." The strange boy said softly, his forest eyes wide with a blank expression, "My name is Hiccup."

"Is that so?" The sugar-coated woman smiled again. Everything seemed to make her smile. She then turned to Jack and whispered, "It changes every week."

Then "Hiccup" spoke, "Not true." He said, the slightest hint of anger slipping out from under his tongue, "It's been Hiccup for a good month."

"Alright, Hiccup." Said the sickly sweet one, turning back to Jack, "Don't hesitate to go to the front office if you need any help." She chirped, backing out of the room and closing the door quieter than Jack had ever heard.

Then, he turned back around to look at Hiccup who was back to drawing on the sketchpad. Jack gulped, turning to his right to the bed he would be calling his own. It seemed nice enough. Light blue sheets and soft green pillows at the head. A silver blanket draped over the frame at the foot. There was a large wicker basket on the floor at the foot, probably to hold the personal items Jack didn't have. Jack meandered over and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing the boy who was lost in drawings. Unsure of what to do next, Jack opened his mouth, but was cut off by Hiccup.

"Bulimia." He said, as carelessly as a dinner conversation starter.

Jack gulped down his words, choking on his train of thought, "W- huh?"

"That's what you were going to ask, right?" Hiccup answered, glancing over to Jack, a lock of brown hair falling across his right eye, "Why I'm here. In this..." His eyes darted around the lightly painted room, "...Place." After glancing once more at Jack, he went back to drawing and finished with, "Bulimia Nervosa, Body Dysphoria and Anxiety."

Jack took a moment to realize what had just happened, his thoughts trailing off to a range of things before they latched back onto the current situation, "Y- yeah. Sorry. I, uhm... Yeah."

"Why are you here?"

"Insomnia and Depression."

"I asked why you're here, not what you have."

Jack paused, "But you only-"

"I told you what I have because that's why I'm here." Hiccup cut him off once again, "People can live with Depression and Insomnia and be just fine, but you're here, and I want to know why."

Silence.

"'The first part about fixing the problem is acknowledging that there is a problem.'" Hiccup recited in a lengthy, mocking, monotone voice, "They're going to make you share anyways, you might as well get it off your-"

"I, uh..." It was Jack's turn to interrupt, "I took a bath in bleach."

Hiccup looked up, his eyebrows raised, "And here I thought you'd dyed your hair." The boy was now looking over the whitened fellow, noticing the patches of pink along his frail neck, "You can't have been in for long."

"Not too long. And it wasn't even 100% bleach. I didn't know it, but my mother likes to water down what we have so we don't waste money. Too bad, huh?" Jack said with a laugh that soon faded once he realized exactly what he had just said.

To Jack's surprise Hiccup laughed. Granted, it was more of a scoff, a huff of air that came out his nose as the corners of his mouth inched up slightly. Jack realized that the stranger had probably made his fair share of suicide jokes. Jack noticed that his back was hunched over, a reaction, his psychology teacher once told him, that was caused by insecurity. He straightened his spine, then turned his neck to look at the inviting sheets. If only he could sleep for a while. Maybe a day or two, or a month, or maybe a year. Just long enough for this all to be over so he could be happy again. His weakened body gave in to his longing and he could feel himself slowly crumple over, sinking onto his side as he lifted the blue sheets and sliding his long legs under. He wrapped himself in the warmth, the cotton irritating the wounds on his neck, but he didn't care, because in his moment he was safe.