"A Night of Exhaustion and Overwhelm"

The darkness of the night was only illuminated by the soft glow of the city outside our high-rise apartment, casting an ethereal light on the sleek, modern furniture. I sat on the sofa, my back straight and my hands clasped together, waiting for what felt like an eternity for Hange's return. My ears, sensitive to every sound, picked up the slightest noise from the hallway, and my heart skipped a beat as I heard the door open. At 2:00 AM, the sound of the door opening was like music to my ears. Hange walked in, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion, his eyes half-lidded. "Hey, sweetheart. I'm back," he said softly, his voice laced with fatigue. "Today was pretty busy." His eyes scanned the room, locking onto mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of guilt. I smiled, trying to appear as cheerful as possible, not wanting him to worry about me. He noticed my happiness and his expression turned apologetic. "You were waiting for me?" he asked, his voice tinged with regret. I nodded enthusiastically, my eyes fixed on his, and he knew I had been waiting for him all day. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and his expression turned grim. It was already 2:30 AM, and he had to wake up in a few hours for another busy day. Hange walked towards me, his movements slow and labored. "I'm sorry, I...I can't cuddle right now," he said, his voice firm, almost rough. "I'm too tired, and all I want to do is sleep." The words cut deep, and I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. My separation anxiety, always lurking just beneath the surface, began to rear its ugly head. Tears streamed down my face as Hange's words sank in – no cuddles, no comfort, just sleep. Hange's expression changed from tiredness to regret in an instant. He took a step closer to me, but I was already spiraling out of control. My mind, like a newborn baby's, didn't understand the concept of tiredness; all I knew was that I wouldn't get the cuddles I craved. As the tears continued to flow, my body began to shut down. The sensory overload, always threatening to overwhelm me, came crashing down. My skin crawled with discomfort, my ears rang with a piercing noise, and my head spun with dizziness. I felt a fever rising, my body weak and fragile. Hange's face blurred as I looked up at him, my vision hazy. He knelt beside me, his hands gently touching my shoulders. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a muffled cry. My body shook with sobs, and Hange's grip on me tightened. He pulled me into his arms, and for a moment, I felt safe. But it was short-lived. As he held me, I could feel his exhaustion, his desire to sleep. It only made me more anxious, more scared. I buried my face in his chest, trying to block out the world, but it was too much. The sensory overload, the fear, and the anxiety consumed me. Hange's voice was a gentle whisper in my ear, "I'm here, baby. I've got you. You're safe." But I wasn't safe. I was lost, alone, and scared, trapped in a world that was too much for me to handle. As the night wore on, I could feel myself slipping further and further away, my mind regressing to a state of infancy. The world around me was a blur, and all I knew was that I needed comfort, I needed Hange. But even with him by my side, I wasn't sure if I would make it through the night.