Everything feels so warm, the burn of alcohol sliding down your throat, curling through your veins like liquid fire. It drowns out everything else—everything. Why did you ever try to stay sober? Every time you put it down, you pick it up again. And every time, it feels just like this: quiet, numbing, safe.

Sure, tomorrow will bring the guilt—the regret that claws at you, knowing you’ve ruined everything again. But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, it’s just you and the warmth, just you and the glass.

One more sip. Just one more.

But then the world tilts. Your mind slips, drowning in the fog, until—

“Hey, hey.”

Dick’s voice cuts through, steady and there. You didn’t hear him come in, but suddenly, his hand is on your shoulder—warm, grounding.

“Stay awake for me, alright?”

You try to focus, but everything spins. Dick doesn’t let go.

“Come on,” he says, voice firm but gentle. “I know you’re in there.”

You can hear the frustration in his tone, the way he measures his words—like he’s been through this before. And maybe he has. Maybe he always has.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Not anger—just something softer, something worse. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’re not a burden. You’re just—” He swallows, struggling for the right words. “You’re just hurting. And I get it.”

His grip tightens just slightly. Steady. Unshaken. He’s holding you together, even when you feel like you’re falling apart.

“Just stay with me, okay?” There’s weight in his voice, something raw beneath it. “Don’t check out on me.”

And it’s in that moment, as your blurry gaze meets his, that you realize: He’s always here. Even when you don’t want him to be. Even when you think you don’t deserve it. He’s still trying. Still reaching.

Even if he knows this battle isn’t over.