Diane
Uriel had allowed themselves the pleasure of relaxing on the— well, it felt like Margo's, if they were going to be completely honest— couch, when the door opens with a creak. They knew instinctively they weren't doing anything *Wrong* Technically, but it doesn't prevent them from jolting upwards in shock, looking over at Margo with a guilty expression. 

It fades almost instantly upon meeting her eyes. Uriel *Knew* It, could almost *Feel* It intrinsically— something was wrong, that much was certain.

"Margo, you're..." 

They limply toss their book to the foot of the couch, scooting their body over to fully face the door. The correct words remain illusive, and Uriel tries and fails to think of something to say. Instead, their dark, tired grey eyes maintain eye contact with Margo. Watching. Waiting, for her to do what she needed.
Jeannie
◆ "Yeah, it's... Not been the greatest day."

□ Quietly muttering the words out as she made her way to her bed, it was clear that Margo really wasn't doing so hot. Flopping onto her bed, she buried her face into her pillow and curled her body up in a somewhat strange manner. She didn't exactly want to hide how she was feeling from Uri, but at the same time the hateful monkey on her shoulder had been belittling her for the past hour and then some, breaking her down bit by bit as the duct tape holding her façade together began to rip.

▪︎ The question now was less if she was going to break, and more a question of *When.*

◆ "But enough about me..." Her voice barely even registered as one, muffled by the stale pillow she had her face buried in. "What were you..." A sniffle. "Reading?"
Diane
*Oh dear,* Uriel thought, a frown gracing their features. Hearing her voice crackle and strain with emotion made something in their stomach flip. Sympathy ran ice-cold through their veins. 

"Oh, Margo..." They trail off, sighing softly before approaching the foot of her bed. 

There was a good chance she didn't want to talk about it. There was a small, but still real, chance that she'd grow angry at their prying, and scream at them until her lungs hurt. 

And there was the equally real chance that she was desperately waiting for the opportunity to talk about what was bothering her.

"Talk," Uriel spoke.
Jeannie
◇ But, she didn't have it in her to talk.

□ At least, not at the moment Uri had asked her politely but firmly to spill whatever it was that was bothering her. Where did she even begin? Did she begin with her conversation with Owen, still fresh in her mind and still slashing away at her emotional stability with a ragged rusty knife? Or did she go back to when she'd met Violetta, a few cautios questions that got tempered by an unwillingness to confront what felt like a demon lingering over her shoulder. Or maybe she should have just kept quiet.

▪︎ By this point, she'd already begun to shake lightly, the first foreshocks of the mother of all breakdowns rippling through her body.

◆ "I'm a fucking *Wreck,* Uri..." Her voice was muffled by the pillow pressed to her face, crackling with every word and catching in her throat. "And I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to even approach it. I'm just... So unsure, man, holy fuck. I..."

• The first sobs rang out. Shit.
Diane
Cold, sheer *Panic* Ran under Uriel's skin, and they held back a deep breath. Margo was crumbling, slipping like ashes through their hands, and they could feel themselves desperately cupping their hands to catch whatever they could. 

"You're— you're not a wreck, Margo." Their voice lowered to a soothing lull, and the panic of *What do I do* Manifested itself in a timid, gentle hand on her shoulder. 

Uriel was flying blind. They didn't have experience picking up other people's pieces, only preventing them from breaking. And the one person Uriel *Did* Know how to comfort was vastly different to Margo, and they weren't sure the techniques they use on him would be effective on the girl sobbing in front of them. It didn't *Seem* Like it. 

"It's alright. You're alright. Everyone crumbles sometimes."
Jeannie
◆ "Bullfucking*Shit.*" She weakly croaked out, curling her arms around her pillow and pressing her face ever deeper into it. "I'm a... I'm a waste of space, and it *Hic* Doesn't matter, and I should just go get myself killed by some fuckin idiot with a gun so I stop dragging everyone down..."

□ At this point, rage boiled in her blood. Partially, it *Was* Directed at Uri, whose only sin was being around to see her cry. Most of it, though, was squarely focused on herself, and her sudden inability to bottle up her emotions again. As the sobs left her throat and her body shook all she could think about were all the slurs she'd been called, the way she'd been forced to stifle down parts of herself that had never even seemed odd to her because others found it uncomfortable, and just how *Scrambled* Her mind actually was. 

▪︎ She was a wreck, to say the least.

◆ "But it's not my *Place* To... To crumble, man." She hoarsely replied between sobs, refusing to lift her face from the pillow even as her body screamed for air. In her mind, knocking herself out was preferable to letting her roommate see her with her face smeared in shades of red, her eyes bloodshot, her mouth cut square. "That's not me, but... But... I'm so un-fucking-certain. I don't even know what I am anymore, for fuck sakes... God. Just do me a favour and knock me out..."