**The Weight of Lonely Nights**

As I sat on the sofa, my hypersensitive ears picked up every sound in the room, from the gentle hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen to the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. My eyes, though blind, seemed to absorb every detail of my surroundings through my other senses. I was waiting, always waiting, for the one person who made me feel safe and loved - Hange Zoe, my husband. The fluorescent lights above cast an eerie glow, making my sensitive skin crawl. I shifted uncomfortably, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations. The door opened, and I perked up, my heart racing with excitement. Hange's footsteps, light and weary, entered the room. His voice, a gentle rumble, soothed my frazzled nerves. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm back... today was pretty busy." He gazed at me, his eyes scanning my face, and I could sense his exhaustion. I smiled, a wide, toothy grin, and nodded enthusiastically. "You were waiting for me?" he asked, a hint of surprise and affection in his voice. I nodded again, my eyes locked on his, even though he knew I couldn't see him. He knew I always waited for him, always needed him. Hange glanced at the clock on the wall, and his expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry, I... I'm too tired," he said, his voice laced with regret. "I have to get up early, and I really need to sleep." He took a step closer, his hand reaching out, but then he hesitated, as if torn between his fatigue and his desire to comfort me. I felt a pang in my chest, a familiar ache that grew whenever Hange was distant or preoccupied. My separation anxiety, a constant companion since childhood, reared its ugly head, and I began to tremble. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I couldn't hold them back. They streamed down my face, hot and unchecked. Hange's expression softened, and he took another step closer, his voice filled with remorse. "Baby, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to make you cry." He knelt beside me, his hands gently wiping away my tears. But it was too late. His words, though meant to comfort, only made me feel more vulnerable, more alone. My mind, already fragile due to my autism and PTSD, began to unravel. I regressed, my thoughts dissolving into a jumbled mess of fear and panic, like a newborn baby lost in an unfamiliar world. I whimpered, a high-pitched sound, and reached out, desperate for Hange's touch, for his reassurance. My body shook, and my breathing quickened, as I clung to him, terrified of being abandoned again. Hange's arms enveloped me, holding me close as I sobbed, but even his warmth couldn't chase away the darkness that had settled over me. In that moment, I was no longer an adult, no longer a person with a husband who loved me; I was a scared, lost child, crying out for comfort, for safety, for a parent to hold me. And Hange, my loving husband, was all I had. But even he, with all his love and kindness, seemed to be slipping away from me, lost in his world of work and responsibility. As the night wore on, and Hange held me close, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was drowning in my fears, that I was losing myself, piece by piece, in the silence of our lonely nights. And I knew that I needed him, needed his love and his comfort, more than ever, to survive the darkness that threatened to consume me.