He fell on his front, the side of his head bashing against the concrete sidewalk, causing him to let out a spat of blood from his mouth. His entire body bounded for a moment, before he was still for a moment, twitching slightly. His light grey hoodie was stained with his own blood, though the hood was still up, covering his face and head, and his black jeans were torn and ripped from the scuffle. His shoes were dirty white, and for all intents and purposes, he seemed like just the average person.

So why was he downed in such a state, with his 2 attackers having a cruel laugh at him? Did he own them money? Had he slighted one of them, or one connected to them? Or was it the ornate box that one had in their hands? It had previously been in the backpack of the injured person, but they had torn it off of him when he was trying to fight back, gutted it of its contents, and thrown the bag off to the side.

"Some guardian you are." one taunted him, as he struggled to get up, but found himself barely able to raise his torso slightly.

"No..." he stammered. "No... please, don't..." he begged. "You know not what you are doing..." he said quietly.

"Oh. We know." the second one responded, the two of them little more than menacing shadows right now, with how blurry his vision was, and how the lone streetlamp above was shining right on them from behind, almost accentuating their gleeful and cruel smiles. "This is exactly what we wanted." they told him further.

With that, the two faced each other, one holding the box in their hands, as if presenting it to the other one.

"No...! No!" the injured man begged.

"You failed, 'Guardian'." the other grinned, as the lock on the box shattered when they placed a key into it, causing the key itself to shatter as well, and they reached to open the box.

"NO!" the downed man yelled, trying to raise a hand up to stop them.

There was no answer from within the house. Not at first. However, after a brief pause, she heard him from within the den.

"Yo." he said, barely loud enough for her to hear. When she stepped into the room, she saw him sitting on the couch, staring at the television. It seemed to be on some 24/7 news channel, and the anchor was droning on about something happening in Europe.

He then looked over towards her, and she saw his eyes looked... horrid. They were tired, they were sunken, there were bags under them, and he had an overall expression of just... extreme 'blah', she would say.

It also seemed there was a distinct downturn in his overall mood, too.

"...couldn't sleep." he mumbled.

"Hi, though." he said further, looking back to the TV and sinking back into the couch cushions.

"..." Nate was silent again for a moment, not even seeming to realise that the television had been turned off. Or maybe he was aware, but didn't even care? He just stared at the blank screen for a moment, before looking at her.

"Just can't." he said.

"...does it matter?" he then asked her, before shaking his head.

"Sorry." he apologised.

"I just... had a weird and depressing dream, and now I'm just... down." he told her.

"That's all."

"I don't know." Nate responded.

"I just... I don't know." he repeated.

"I don't know why I feel this way, I don't know what exactly caused it... my dream was bad, but I've had unsettling dreams before..." he went on. "It's just... whatever." he sighed.

He then leaned in towards her, resting on her shoulder, but she could feel it. He was almost dead weight right now.

"Sorry, Alicja..." he apologised.

"I know." Nate responded.

"I don't know why I feel this way. I just so." he said.

"..." he was then silent, as she heard him sob a little, and a tear or two trickled down his cheek.

"I feel feel so... hopeless, Alicja." he said to her.

"Like... it doesn't matter. Things are going to shit, and there's nothing that can be done. Why bother trying?" he asked.

"I don't know WHY I feel this way, but I do. And I can't shake it."

"...I'll be useless there." he said.

"Pretty sure I'll be useless... no matter what." he lamented, before she felt him shake his head slightly.

"Ngh, don't know WHY I just said that." he admitted, sounding a LOT more like himself suddenly... before she felt him put his weight on her fully again.

"...regardless, I can't be there." he told her.

"Not like this." he said.

"I'd be useless and bring everyone down."

"Ok." Nate responded.

"...if you don't want to be around me, though, I'll understand." he told her.

"I might be like this for a while. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know." he mumbled.

"I don't know anything right now." he said further. "Except that I just don't care. About anything. Or myself, really. Anything about myself." he continued, his tone getting less and less energetic.

"...maybe I'll just fall asleep here and whatever happens, happens."

Nate paused for a moment.

"...I..." he stammered.

"I don't know." he admitted.

"I mean, I see myself in the mirror every day. Multiple times a day, but... I..." he said further, thinking about it.

"Either I don't see it, or... I don't notice it." he mumbled.

He still sounded down and depressed, but the hopelessness seemed to be temporarily gone, because now he was fixated on this question.

Nate merely nodded in response, before sluggishly getting to his feet.

"...hm." he mumbled.

"Guess I'll use the full-length one in the bedroom." he said.

"Might as well." he sighed, before started to visibly trudge slowly away from the couch. He then stopped and looked over towards her.

"You coming?" he asked.

"Or not?"

She saw him smirk. Slightly. But it was there.

"Heh. That's one way to put it." he agreed.

The two then made their way to the bedroom, where they turned on the light, and he stood in front of the mirror. He then closed his eyes, took a small breath, readied himself, and opened them.

"...huh." he muttered.

"Looks like I CAN see my own life-aura if I just... well... pay attention." he commented.

"Also, looks fine." he told her. "Well... yeah. I mean, I'm not sick or dying, doesn't look like I have any illness or anything. Seems like my aura's pretty decent." he continued.