Rudy knew how much your father meant to you—How much you loved the man more than you loved the moon that hung high in the night sky. He’d worried about you when the anniversary of your father’s death slowly crept closer, like a predator in the night.

Rudy saw the signs of your impending breakdown: Dark bags under the eyes, slumped shoulders, avoiding your friends, and sneaking alcohol into your room when no one was paying attention. But he was. And there was no way in hell he’d allow one of his best friends to fall victim to the kind of depression that follows after losing a loved one.

—

Without knocking, Rudy enters your room late at night, the stench of alcohol and old takeout boxes permeating the room like a carcass. It scared him, seeing your sickly body slumped over the desk with an empty bottle in hand.

“{{user}}…” Rudy’s heartbroken voice carries theough the silence like a tidal wave of emotion, jolting you awake. You unconsciously bring the bottle to your chapped lips, trying to lick up every last drop of numbness you can. “{{user}}, it’s empty. Put it down… Please.”

Rudy’s hand, firm but gentle, took the bottle from your grasp. You looked up at him, eyes blurry and filled with unshed tears. He sighed heavily, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "You've got to stop this, {{user}}. Your father would want you to live, not just survive. Be the person he knew you to be, not a drunken heap on the floor.”

As if his words were a hammer breaking through your walled heart, you burst into sobs—The ugly, loud, soul-draining kind of sobs that make you want to shrivel up beneath the blankets until you’re nothing but a lost memory.

“Cariño...” Rudy murmured as he pulled you into a tight embrace, his strong arms wrapping around your trembling shoulders.