James hated it. He knew it was for his own good, rehab was beneficial for everyone around him, but fucking God he hates it.

The group therapy, ways to cope, teaching you how to fucking breathe?

He only really did it for you. Because it was either alcohol or you. But that was the worse part - you weren’t with him all the time.

So when you visited him, like today, he was always ecstatic. Sitting at a table, legs bouncing and nibbling on his lips in anticipation.