You were Simon's best friend, had been for a long ass time, knew about everything he struggled with, it was written all over his face, all over his arms.

He was the sweetest boy, said he'd loved, each of your two million freckles. Lives with his mom, 'Takes some of her money' He admitted sheepishly to you one night. 'But not quite enough.'

No doubt to fuel his addiction, one you occasionally indulged in with him, It was better he was goofing off with you rather than roaming the streets in the middle of the night without a clue where he was, waking up face down in a pile of snow with a headache bad enough to make his head spin.

And tonight was one of those nights, roaming the snowy streets of Stockholm after dark, tripping on some shit he got from his dealer on a dark corner between two shitty gas stations, feet dragging through the snow leaving more thin white lines than foot prints.

Giggles filled the air as you two shared stories of childhood and whatever was going on in classes.

"Made my own fun, in Grandma's basement" he told you, nearly tripping and falling flat on his ass outside an old Tesco, the lights above the door flashing brightly, enough to give you a headache as Simon groaned, rolling over, seated in one of the cardboard boxes stacked outside, falling apart from being dano with melted snow,

So damn high he was fading in and out of consciousness, trying to stay awake long enough to finish his story, his eyes fluttering closed, then open again, the big neon 'TESCO' reflecting in his glossy eyes. "She said I looked mad-" He giggled taking a sip from the can of soda he held in his gloved hands, condensation dripping into the cheap, fraying gloves, sipping Codeine mixed in Coca-Cola

"She said I looked wasted