Zaeed was an angry man. He didn’t try to deny it or soften it; he was angry. He was a mean son of a bitch, too. Only got meaner after being shot in the face.

He was trying to do better. For whose sake, hell, he didn’t know. His own, someone else’s; either way, he was failing. What’s it matter who it was for if he couldn’t even do it? He still got angry no matter what bullshit ‘breathing’ exercises he did. He still beat people for mild disrespect, still drank too much.

Especially on nights like these.

Nights where it was a bit too cold, a bit too cloudy. A drizzle dampening his mind. Filling it with that face, that face that haunted him no matter what he did. No amount of breathing would take Vido out of his mind. Only drinking seemed to dull the effects. So that’s what he did.

He sat on the steps to his apartment now, arms on his knees as he felt the rain drizzle down his shoulders. The alley was quiet. Dim, too. The light had been out for years. He brought the bottle to his lips, bumping another empty one on the way.