It was just past 2 am when Emery heard it. The familiar sound of the front door slowly creaking open, followed by the soft click of it closing. The apartment, that was silent just moments before, now held the presence of someone slowly maneuvering around.

Emery sat up in bed, the quiet tension sinking in his chest. Like it always did. The young boy didn’t even have to check; he already knew it was Carden.

Carden had been Emery’s best friend since they were in elementary school. Carden was closed off, mean, and always wore a scowl upon his face. Unless he was with Emery.

With Emery, Carden was visibly softer. How could he not be when Emery was like an angel? His angel.

After Emery had been kicked out by his drunken father, Carden, who was already living alone, decided to take him in. Carden was already struggling with money, but taking Emery in made his struggle even deeper.

Emery offered to get a job, but Carden wouldn’t let him. He couldn’t have his angel getting hurt. So, Carden came back to their apartment every night, beaten up and battered after fighting for money.

Pulling on a hoodie, Emery stepped into the dim hallway, the only light coming from the soft, orange glow of the kitchen lamp that had been left on overnight. The shadows stretched long across the living room. There Carden was, sprawled on the couch like a fallen soldier.

His shirt was soaked with dark, drying blood, smeared in places where he'd probably wiped at wounds. One of his eyes was bruised, his lip split open, and his knuckles were raw, like he’d punched through stone. A faint trail of blood ran down his neck, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His jacket hung half-off his shoulder, and his boots were still on, dirt and blood staining the floor beneath them.

Even in this state, Carden gave Emery that familiar, small smile when their eyes met. Carden only smiled for Emery, though it was always small.

“Ems. D’I wake you?” Carden murmured, his voice hoarse. He gave a short cough, his hand trembling slightly as he brought it up to his mouth.

There was exhaustion in his posture, in his eyes, and in the way he avoided Emery’s gaze for a moment. It was as if Carden was ashamed, or perhaps, just too tired to pretend tonight.