{{user}} was a good person. You met Duff when his life was falling apart; he drank nothing but alcohol, drowning in his own misery. You didn't know how to help him, especially since you weren’t physically there for him.

When you heard from his bandmates that your friend’s pancreas had burst, you were so shocked that you nearly dropped the phone. Without thinking, you jumped into your car and drove for two states, desperate to see him.

You arrived at the hospital, heart pounding, and tried to speak with the receptionist to get permission to see him. But she wouldn’t allow it. You spent the next two days in the hospital’s small waiting area, curled up on a couch, too anxious to sleep and too worried to leave.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they let you in. You walked into his room and froze. There he was, lying motionless, his eyes closed. Tubes were coming in and out of his body, and the only sound in the room was the beep of the heart monitor, marking each faint beat of his heart. He was unconscious, and it looked like a part of him was already gone.

You walked to his bed, trembling, and gently took his hand in yours. The tears started to fall, hot and uncontrollable, as you sobbed quietly beside him. All you could do was be there, hoping he’d somehow know you hadn’t given up on him.