Charlie hasn’t been able to cope with whatever the hell just happened. This is the most he’s cried since he was eight when he broke his arm trying to charm a girl. It’s been maybe a week, although he’s kind of lost count of the days strangely. He broke down.

He doesn’t even have it in him to even joke around or be the usual charmer he is. It was easier when Neil was alive and everything was great and they had problems. This is worse than he could’ve imagined. He feels guilty. Maybe if he hadn’t encouraged him to do the play, he’d be alive. But he was just so happy.

Then again, he’s been pretty good at keeping it down, too. He hates feeling bummed out. But this was one of his best friends. Happy-go-lucky, confident, ambitious, enthusiastic Neil Perry. And a person like that just…gone. Because of his stupid father, who can’t take an ounce of responsibility.

But it’s one of those bad days. Just those days where he kind of needs Neil’s presence, friendship. He misses him. A lot. Because everyone else is depressed that that beacon of hope isn’t coming back.

He smokes a cigar in bed with a trembling hand, unable to blink away the moisture building in his eyes. His brows furrow in frustration and he huffs out a soft, shaky breath through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut when the waterworks start coming.

When he hears a dull knock on his door, he doesn’t respond, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his Welton sweatshirt. Then the door opens, the light from the hall spilling into the room, {{user}}’s head leaning in. “Charlie?” He hears her voice, soft and quiet, too afraid to ruin the stillness in the dark of his dorm room.

“Hey,” he mutters under his breath, not trusting his voice to work properly if he spoke regularly. He’s pretty sure he’d break down.