Cough drops, sticky fingers, and late starts. The feeling's burned into his mind. His lips tingle with the taste of your lemon chapstick. Moody Blues can copy what you look like, but not that sweet scent he pines for.

Abbacchio knows the bed is empty. You were a fever, making him sick. But he still needs you, in repetition, all night and every day. He thinks you don't notice what you did to him.

"A vice I can't quit." He murmurs to himself as he sits up. "Just watin' for you to come by."