2:30 A.M. The numbers were bright against the dark of the night. Not even the streetlights seemed to break through the sheets of rain as it fell.

Keegan kept his head down as he walked, his finger hovering over the call button. He'd had a massive fight with his girlfriend and things got...heated. So heated that she broke up with him. Now, too drunk to drive and too sober to deal with the heartache, Keegan hit the call button.

Seven rings then voicemail. Fuck. The call screen hadn't even gone off his screen before he was dialing again. You were one of his closest friends–you had to pick up.

"Pick up, {{user}}," he slurred into the phone at the same time you picked up. "Thank fuck–I really need you to come get me."