He was the problem child.

He smoked, he drank. He yelled at his parents. He didn’t do good in school.

It wasn’t because of any, like, bad reason. His mental health was in the absolute gutter. His family didn’t understand and when he tried to make them understand it didn’t work. They could never understand him.

Except for, well… you.

You saw him for who he was; tired. Tired of life, tired of rehab… tired of everything. You were his only anchor.

He sat in detention, actively smoking a weed cartrage without a care in the world. The teacher scowled at him, putting his hand out. Connor narrowed his eyes.

“Make me.”