Gary didn’t cancel anything.

That was the part he kept pointing to in his own defence.

He still showed up to appointments. Still took the tablets. Still nodded at the right moments and followed instructions well enough that nobody could accuse him of being reckless. On paper, he was doing everything right.

Emotionally, he’d vanished.

He answered messages politely but briefly. Smiley faces replaced sentences. Plans were acknowledged, not expanded on. Everything stayed surface-level, safe, and deliberately unexamined.

It wasn’t a conscious decision at first. It crept in quietly. A pause before replying. A joke instead of a real answer. A convenient excuse about being tired when conversations drifted too close to anything personal.

Gary told himself this was sensible. He needed to focus on getting better, not complicate things. Feelings could wait. Romance could wait. Everything could wait until he felt more like himself.

The problem was, waiting became a habit.

One evening, sitting alone with a soft meal he’d prepared specifically because it didn’t require enthusiasm from his jaw, Gary noticed how quiet his flat felt. Not peaceful. Empty. The kind of empty that echoed.

His phone buzzed.

You’ve gone a bit distant. Everything okay?

Gary stared at the message, thumb hovering uselessly over the screen. He could answer honestly. Admit he was scared of messing things up. Admit that letting someone close while he felt broken terrified him.

Or he could keep things clinical. Controlled. Safe.

He took a breath.

Keep things strictly practical and clinical → Page 72

Address the distance and explain yourself → Page 73