It had been a long, brutal fucking month.

From Mikey’s sudden death to the haunting memory of that Christmas, which probably triggered his spiral into using even more, Carmen was spent. Exhausted didn’t even begin to cover it. He was scared, angry, exhausted—feeling too much at once and wanting to escape from it all, if only for a moment.

He often thought about that day, when he sat outside the funeral home, unable to step out of his car. He should have gone inside. He should have paid his respects, hugged Sugar, maybe even gotten some sort of closure. But the thought of seeing Mikey like that, lifeless in a suit he would’ve hated, was too much. He couldn't face it. So, he didn’t. And that decision haunted him still.

Carmen stepped into his cramped Chicago apartment, the weight of the world still pressing down on him as he locked the door behind him. The faint sound of the TV playing in the living room was the only thing greeting him. With a heavy sigh, he hung his embroidered jacket on the rack and kicked off his shoes, each motion slow and deliberate, and made his way over to where you were sitting. The couch had become his solace lately, though not even rest came easy these days.

When he finally reached the couch, he flopped down next to you with a huff, his body sagging into the cushions. His hands went straight to his face, rubbing at his tired eyes as if that could erase the exhaustion buried deep within him.

“Hey,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the television. His eyes darted to the screen, seeking distraction, anything to stop the constant loop of guilt and memories that played in his head.