15 Harry's POV
"Hey Tom, can we talk a minute?" I asked, it was a quiet enough time, Danny and Dougie were pushing Buzz on his swing, so the kid was being cared for. Tom was just watching them with his sad eyes, and so I figured that this was the best time to talk.
"Erm yeah... What's wrong?" Tom stood up, looking very, very worried as he followed me to the table.
"Nothing's wrong as such, I was just wondering... are you alright?" I asked, knowing that Tom would probably say that he was fine, but needing to ask. After last night's conversation with Dougie, I just needed to ask, to make sure.
"I'm fine." Tom answered, as I'd predicted.
"Are you sure? You just, you seem a bit down... You're not having a dip are you?" it was hard to talk about, it shouldn't have been, but it was. After the initial conversation about his bipolar, we'd never really talked about it. Apart from the occasional 'you alright?' we never talked about it, we just figured that Tom was doing well. He'd never seemed down, or like he was struggling, so we never talked about it.
"I, erm. No, no I'm not having any sort of dip. I'm on my medication, taking it as I'm supposed to, and I haven't stopped taking it for even a day for years, I'm not ill." It was the most he'd said in a while. He looked panicked too, incredibly panicked.
"Alright, alright, calm down a bit, it's fine. I was just asking, because we're concerned. You're not... you just seem a bit down, that's all. We're worried." I explained, hating how it hard it was talk about it. It shouldn't have been, but it was. Maybe we should have talked about Tom's mental health more...
"I, I'm fine. I just... she left, and it's difficult to adjust. That's all." Tom was lying; something more was going on here. I could tell by the way Tom was speaking, the way his face looked like he was practically pleading me to believe him.
"Are you sure? It's okay if there's something else going on you know, we won't judge, or think anything bad of you. We just want to help you, thanks all." I held his hand, hoping he would understand that I truly meant it.
"Thanks, but I'm fine, I'm still on my medications and everything." Tom flashed another smile, pulling his hand out from under my own.
"Alright, and if you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to tell us. We can help you, even if it's just taking care of Buzz for a while." I smiled back, more genuinely.
"Thank you, but I can manage. I'm doing fine." Tom answered, "I'll be fine."
"Okay, but still, remember what I said. We're here, whenever you need us, for whatever you need us for." I promised, we would do absolutely anything for Tom.
"Thank you, but I can manage." Tom stood, then looked lost, watching his son on the swing, "There's... I have to go and make lunch." He walked away.
I still wasn't used to seeing him act like this, like he was acting entirely on a premade routine. He had to do things at certain times, and did the exact same things every day. Making meals at certain times, playing with Buzz at certain times, putting him to bed, cleaning and tidying. It was all clockwork, every single day, without fail. Tom never used to be like that. He used to make sure Buzz ate and slept at a regular time, but everything else was all free and easy. It was never like this, and it was wrong to see him like this. Tom was supposed to be free and easy, able to talk about things.
If we asked if he was struggling, he'd always been honest, after he'd been diagnosed. After Tom and Dougie's struggles, we'd all promised each other to be truthful when it came to problems with our mental health. Now he was hiding away, putting on a terrible mask and pretending that everything was fine, when it clearly wasn't.
If this continued, we were going to have to take him back to the psychiatrist. And just hope to God that he could sort Tom out, or at least help get to the bottom of what was happening to him.