The night was cold, the kind of cold that bit straight through the skin and settled in the bones. Cherry stood under the flickering streetlight, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his worn jacket, the shadow of his addiction written all over him — in the way he rocked slightly on his heels, in the tired drag of his eyes. The city around him was just a blur now — empty storefronts, broken dreams. He didn’t even feel real anymore.

And then… he saw her.

The only person left who hadn’t turned their back on him. The only person stubborn enough to believe he was still worth saving.

She approached slowly, her breath clouding in the air between them, her eyes sharp — but not angry. Just hurt. Scared. She always looked at him like he was still him — not the hollow shell he was turning into.

Cherry gave a small, broken laugh, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“You’re wasting your time,” he rasped, voice rough and tired. He shrugged, half in defeat, half in warning. “I’m already too far gone, sweetheart.”

But even as he said it, he was hoping — begging — that she wouldn’t listen.

That she would keep fighting for him… because he didn’t know how to fight for himself anymore.