Jean opened his desk top and looked blankly at the screen, typing a hundred words per second as he sent a frustrated email.

You're shit at your job. Everything single, dying thing you have suggested I do climaxes in a fucking

failure. I have no idea what to do with him. Okay? I'm angry. No. I'm frustrated. I'm frustrated off my

ass and I don't know what to tell him. Or do with him. Should I just move out? Should I confront him.

Fucking bullshit.

And you know what the worst part is? I don't even think he realizes how hard this is for me.

Okay, I'm sorry. You're not shit at you're job. I'm over exaggerating. No I'm not. You know what, I

think he does. He does, he completely can tell how hard this is for me but he just does for fun.

I'm asking you. Actually, I'm begging you. I'm on my knees here, begging you to tell me what to

do. I am helpless. There is nothing you can do to change that fact. Just help me.

Jean Kirschtein

P.S – I did that thing that you told me to do where I don't draft, edit or re – read the emails I send you.

PP.S – It actually WAS a good kiss.

PPP.S – That doesn't mean I want to kiss him again.

PPPP.S – The pills don't work for shit. But I'll send you another email regarding that. Well, I mean like

my mood doesn't change as much but that doesn't- whatever.

Jean sent the email and slowly closed his computer. He put his hands against his eyes as he sighed. Was he crying? He looked upwards, forcing himself to laugh at the pitiful state. He'd gone an entire successful few months with no problems or trouble, and yet it was the great Marco Bodt who had managed to break him.

He walked out into the living room, heading out for his job just as Marco caught his attention, "J- Jean?"

He turned around, he was frustrated enough he didn't need any more confusion, "What do you want?" He asked with anger.

"Are you okay?"

Jean opened the door with force, "I'm fine."

"Your eyes are all watery."

Jean looked down at the floor before heading out. And of course he slammed the door.

Marco sat down as he grabbed his glasses and pushed then closer to his eyes. It wasn't going easy on him either. Is the pretend thing still going on? He doubted anyone genuinely believed they were a couple to begin with.

Marco approached Jean's room, he had left the door open. Just as he did he decided it wouldn't harm anyone if he just looked around a bit. Marco wasn't a person who enjoyed getting into other people's personal lives but he could tell something was up.

On the floor, next to Jean's desk he noticed a small box of pills – the box read Latuda. Marco held the box in between his fingers just as Jean walked in. "What are doing?" He asked.

Marco turned in shock as he stuttered, "You have Bipolar Depression?" Jean leaned against the wall as Marco gave him a worried look, "W- why didn't you tell me?"

"Bipolar Depression and Mania," He corrected, "Both."

Marco sighed, "Look I can explain why I was in here, but you can trust me with things like this," He began but Jean interrupted.

"I came to get those, which don't work for shit." He yanked the box out of Marco's hands as he headed out for the door.

"Jean." Marco followed, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, no reason." He retorted sarcastically, "Maybe because people have secret. You know? Things they don't want other people to know about." He wasn't going to word it differently. He was in a cold war with this guy; he wasn't going to admit he was embarrassed, although he was.

"Wait!" Marco grabbed Jean's wrist just as he was about to leave. Jean didn't move, "Jean, I don't care. But please, please, just communicate with me."

He turned around and looked away, turning his head from Marco. "I'm just confused. All I want is to be left alone."

He walked out, and again he slammed the door.