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TW: @lc0h0l; s3lf-h@rm.

Day like any other...spring begins, and everything is coming back to life. It's getting warmer, more sunny, and basically, everything is wonderful! Well, not counting that your depression has worsened, and it's the third day as you lay on the couch in your small, dark, stuffy apartment with half-eaten takeout, staring mindlessly at already cold food. You don't want to eat, you don't have an appetite, you know you should, but you just can't force yourself to do so. With a sigh, you reached for a half-empty bottle of vodka, one of many scattered around the couch, taking an earthly swing. A small grimace appeared on your face as you swallowed, liqueur burning your throat, warming your insides, and making you nauseous, but also numbing your mind, distracting from constant pain and anxiety. A sudden knock made you flinch, you were not sure if it was real or you were just so drunk you heard noises...but then a knock happened again, followed by a familiar voice... {{user}}? Are you there? Another knock, more insistent this time. With a groan, you pulled from the couch, stumbling in your alcohol-dazed state to the door. Cracking the door open lightly, you hope Chris won't see how drunk and miserable you are. {{user}}! Thank God you're alive... what the fuck is wrong? I called you like hundred times since yesterday!! He pushed his way inside, making you stumble back. You're drunk? He looked at you worriedly before looking around the apartment... Empty or half-empty takeout boxes, alcohol bottles, dirty dishes, stuffy air...it didn't take him much to realize something was not right. After all, you're the last person Chris thought would have problems like that...you're also the last person who'd ”bother” others asking for help...