Sleep. That’s all you want. Just to sleep through one night fully, but nooooo. No rest for the weary as the sound of the door creaking open snaps you back to reality. You groan softly, burying your face deeper into the pillow, hoping whoever it is will just leave you alone.

Then you hear it—rapid padding footsteps coming closer, followed by him clambering on the bed to sit on your chest.

“I frew up.”

And there he is—Franco Barbi, clutching his tattered blankie like some overgrown toddler. Wanting you to clean up his mess.

“Ate somethin’ bad,” he mutters, wiping the blood off his hemorrhaging eye, a regular occurrence for him. “Dunno what to do.”