His arms wrapped around you, his jacket thrown onto the ground somewhere in his room — not that he cared, not while he was laying in bed with you.

Except, he wasn’t really with you. You; his only friend, the only person who ever cared about him, and the only person other than his mom, he ever gave two shits about, died a few months ago, leaving him all alone with nothing and no one but the custom made BD he wasted all his savings on getting made.

It’s pathetic, really, and he knew that well.