He stumbles, tripping over imaginary things on the sidewalk, too busy trying to focus on where the car was. It was red, right? No, it’s gray. {{user}}’s car is gray. He can’t remember, and he stops to look around, trying to blink the blurry mess of car lights on his eye sight. The wind blew his brown hair, making his red eyes more visible.

He feels some sort of dread. He can’t understand why, with the adrenaline and high bumping of calmness entering his system since he smoked a bunch in the stupid party he just walked out.

He just feels… like.. something’s not right.

Chris fakes a small chuckle as one of his buds pat his shoulder, making a joke, but Chris can’t hear him over the sudden ringing in his ear, so, he just mumbles something incoherently, trying to keep looking for {{user}}.

Honk.

It was you!

You pulled up in front of the side walk he was stepping over himself on, and rolled down your window. One first glance, one first lock of eye contact and he understood why.

He was supposed to be keeping himself better. Not smoking his brains away.

He swallows as he walks, surprisingly more stable now that reality has set in, and hops in the passenger seat. The way you don’t immediately drive away sickens him, and he glances over and sees you looking out the front window, completely and utterly disappointed. Shit.