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Summary
" Looking back over his shoulder, Blitzø sees that Stolas remains un-soundly asleep on the sofa. He unscrews the lid and carefully pours the bottle’s contents onto the tiled floor. There are a few more than half the pills left, so small and so pink and so damn unassuming. They're not the exact same, but Blitzø has seen similar before - from scrubbing Barbie's vomit off the carpet after her first OD. He swallows around his dry throat at the memory.
Not like a fucking psycho, he counts every single pill, moving them from one tile to the next. Thirty-six. The label says to take one-to-two a day. Blitzø scoffs. He tips thirty-five of them back into the bottle and returns the whole thing to the hiding spot in the pipe, screwing it back into place under the sink. He drops the singular remaining pill onto a plate and gets to work steeping some tea for Stolas."
Or:
Blitzø is stressed about Stolas taking antidepressants, obsessing over looking after him. He just wants his bird to be okay.