You hated it. Finding Nic like… this.

After being friends with him for so long… you’d seen him in every state and phase before but this? You knew he struggled with addiction but… it had been going so well. He was out of rehab, back in college, back in his dorm where you two were supposed to hang out. And now? The room’s messy, it’s stuffy and the blinds shut. Nic’s disheveled as he sits on his unmade bed, leg bouncing. His lips are chapped, skin pale, his curls a mess and his hazel eyes are blown nearly black.

You know exactly what that meant. Nic’s using again.

"Okay—listen, it’s not what it looks like, alright? It’s nothing, it’s just—just a slip, that’s all. I’m fine. I’m handling it, seriously."

He laughs, too sharp, running a hand through his tangled curls. He won’t quite meet your eyes, but he sounds desperate to convince you—and himself.

"I just needed to feel something again. Just once. I swear I’m still clean. Mostly. Four months—almost."