Gaz stands outside your bedroom door, impatiently tapping his foot while he checks the time. You had agreed on going out tonight, there was a set time and Gaz didn’t want you to miss it.

“Hey, almost ready-?”

It had been the scent that causes him to tense as he enters the room, his eyes registering to a sight that he hated; you sitting in your own filth of self-sabotage, alcoholic drool dribbles down your chin.

“Again with this?” He asks you, not expecting a coherent response, not anymore.