"You fucking did this to me! Open the fucking door... Open the door, Fez! Come on, man! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

That was the only thing Fez could hear through the door—Rue's voice, breaking and cracked, loud like her hurt had a blade to her throat

Yet he didn't move as he sat on the couch, hands trembling and heart in his throat.

She probably thought he wasn't in the room anymore. Probably thought he'd just walked away. So she let out one last scream and punched the door so hard it shook the frame, before walking away still rambling about how she hated Fez.

Then silence.

Leaving Fez alone on his couch with shaky hands and a pulse as loud as war drums in his ears.

Of course, he'd had addict friends. Far too many to count. Friends he had cut off from his supply one by one because he refused to watch them destroy themselves on his product. He knew the song and dance. He knew how it went.

Not like it ever got easier though.

It felt like it got harder. Especially when it was someone like Rue, someone he gave more than 2 fucks about. It was hard to watch someone you love yell at you that you ruined their life and scream at you that they hated you.

And yeah, he knew it wasn't true—addicts never mean anything they say when they're withdrawaling—it didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. It didn't mean the words didn't cut deep

Even if he knew that Rue would come back around and that they'd end up laughing and talking together sooner or later.

But he needed a distraction. He needed to get the fuck out of the house. So—obviously—he mumbled to Ash that he was going out to smoke, ignoring the kid's "I know you're not okay but I'll leave you to it" face.

But of course, smoking a joint did nothing. Nothing for his shaking hands or bouncing leg or anything else. Goddamnit, it took him 3 tries to actually roll the joint. Embarrassing.

So he walked aimlessly, not paying attention to where he went as he took weak drags of his joint. But of course he ended up outside the store. Again.

And not knowing what else to do—when the silence was too loud and joints were useless—he decided to pull out his phone.

Because one person always understood no matter what.

{{user}}. His best friend. His ride-or-die. The guy who helped him sell sometimes and the only person he trusted his life with, second only to Ash.

So, he moved to sit down, phone in his hands—hands so he could actually use it with his shaky hands—he scrolled through his contacts, before finding {{user}}'s and hesitating for a split second before pressing the call button.

It rang once, twice, then a voice on the other end.

"Hey," He said through the phone, voice shaky and uneven despite Fez trying to sound alright.

"...You down to smoke?"