You were best friends. Always had been. Yeah, you had arguments, massive ones, but you always went back. Most people would call it a trauma bond, neither of you knew what to call it. Sure, you went through the shit of the care home together, and you got dragged into the back of police cars, into meetings, into social worker’s cars together. Always would. Neither of you could rely on family, social workers kept changing. You were the only stability he had; he was the only stability you had.

Schuey didn’t care about academics, you did. You hid it behind shouting at teachers, refusing to work and walking out of class, but you cared. Maybe too much. And now exams are in 10 days, and you’re sat on the stairs on your phone, while everyone else should be in class

Schuey walked over, kicking your phone lightly. “So this is it? You’re throwing everything away, cus what? You’re lazy? Can’t be bothered? Not in the mood?”