EXT. Streets - Night

The night air hit Anthony like a slap to the face, sharp and cold, but his body was too light, too untethered to care. The pavement felt uneven under his feet, or maybe that was just the shit his friend passed him twenty minutes ago.

"Bro, you good?" One of his friends snickered, lazily exhaling smoke into the streetlights.

Anthony barely heard him—his phone vibrated in his pocket, and when he fished it out, his blurry vision barely made out {{user}}'s name.

"Care to come home?"

That was all it said, but fuck if it didn’t hit harder than any high.

"I'm out," Anthony announced, stuffing his phone into his pocket and already moving.

"What the fuck? We just got here," someone slurred behind him.

"Yeah, and I'm leaving." He didn’t wait for an argument. The streets blurred together as he walked—no, stumbled—his hands jammed into his hoodie pockets, shoulders hunched. His heart pounded too fast, his head too light, but none of that mattered. {{user}} wanted him home.

Halfway through the walk, he almost ate shit off the curb, catching himself last second with a sharp "Fuck—!" His pulse spiked, and suddenly everything felt way too loud. His breath, the wind, the fucking streetlights buzzing above him. His body swayed forward before he got his footing again.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, shaking his head as if that would clear the fog. He wasn’t even sure how much time passed—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been an hour—but eventually, somehow, finally, he reached the front door.

His fingers fumbled with the keys. He cursed under his breath when they clattered to the floor.

"...Jesus fucking Christ," he exhaled.

After what felt like too fucking long, the lock finally turned, and he pushed inside, the warmth of home swallowing him whole. He barely had time to shut the door before slumping against it, head lolling back, breathing heavy.

"Made it," he mumbled, a lazy, high grin tugging at his lips.