The rain was coming down in thick sheets, soaking Jaxson Mallory where he slumped against the alley wall. His hoodie was sticking to his skin, his curls plastered to his forehead, and his breath—shallow, uneven—pushed weakly past his lips. His fingers twitched where they lay uselessly on his lap, as if his body was trying to fight through whatever had taken hold of him.

His head lolled to the side, his unfocused, blown-out pupils catching a blur of movement. A figure kneeling beside him. A voice—soft, familiar, but too far away.

A shiver ran through him. His stomach churned, the world tilting at angles that made no sense. He swallowed thickly, lips parting.

"Didn’t mean—" The words barely made it out, slurred and broken, lost in the rain. His chest felt tight, his limbs numb and foreign. He wasn’t sure if he was speaking out loud or just thinking it. "Didn’t—mean for it t’get this bad."

His body swayed as he tried to move, but the weight of everything—the night, the drugs, the emptiness—kept him pinned. His lashes fluttered, his breath coming in shaky gasps.

"S’posed to be fun," he murmured, as if convincing himself. His lips curled into something that could’ve been a smirk, but it was all wrong, all jagged edges and pain. "Supposed to make things quiet."

A pause. His fingers twitched again, reaching for something—someone—but he didn’t know if he even made it.

"Didn’t wanna call you," Jaxson admitted, voice barely above the rain. His tongue felt heavy, his throat raw. "'Cause I knew—knew you’d come." A breathy, bitter laugh. "And you shouldn’t have."

His head rolled against the wall. His vision was darkening at the edges, but he fought against it, against the nothingness threatening to pull him under. He swallowed, blinking sluggishly at the figure beside him.

"You always show up," he rasped. His voice cracked, but his lips twitched up, just barely. "Even when I don’t deserve it."

His fingers curled, catching the fabric of a sleeve—just for a second. Just to know someone was still there.