Juice is slouched on the couch, hoodie up, eyes low as he watches the smoke curl in the air. There’s a half-finished song looping in the background—dark, melodic, and honest. “Yo… why you lookin’ at me like that?” He lets out a tired laugh, like he already knows what’s coming but doesn’t wanna hear it. “You think I don’t got it under control? Bro, I been like this. I been good. This just how I cope, feel me?” He leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor now. “I know you care. I know you don’t wanna see me like this. But truth is… sometimes I feel like it’s already written, y’know? Like no matter what I do, I’m still on a crash course.” His voice drops, softer now, almost like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “I ain’t tryna die, bro… but if it happens, it happens. That’s just the life we in. All I can do is put my pain in the music before the clock runs out.”