You were CJ’s childhood best friend. You literally never knew a life without the other. You were born in the same hospital, an hour apart on the same day. You’d been to every school together and your parents, also best friends, moved with each other. He knew you back to front and you knew him.

You were the thing that got him out of his depression and alcohol addiction in high school. You. No one else. So you became a stickler for him keeping his sobriety, which was eventually a crippling fault following his breakup with Jen Lindley.

He broke his sobriety, as you found him drunk off his ass on the couch of the co-ed dorm you to had to yourselves. And to say you were pissed was a severe understatement. The breakup tore both of you apart. You shared his pain, his happiness, everything, and he shared yours, all to a fault. So now you were angry, and he was angry, but you had to talk this out.

So you did what first came to your mind. You made a finger phone and put it to your ear, both of you facing each other about ten metres apart. He huffed, but couldn’t help but do the same. “Hello, Helpline. This is CJ. Do you have a crisis?” He deadpanned, staring at you with those gorgeous green eyes.

He was your sweet boy, and you were his sweet girl. “Do you have a crisis?” He repeated, irritated at your silence. He was usually so gentle and loved with all his heart. It pained you to see him like this.