After being ravaged by a disease of his own mind, Alfred meanders and falters through recovery. The path is never clear, winds around in circles of better and worse, but he continues down it with his support hovering by his side. While this journey is his alone, Arthur makes sure he doesn't have to be alone while he travels it. (tw: eating disorder)

Maybe this could have made some sort of nostalgic, sepia toned love story. Maybe I could have made millions on what happened between us. Instead, all it left with me are a few patchy memories that have left me with scars I still scratch at.