You and Abel had been inseparable since high school, and by the time he dropped out at 17, it felt like you were the only person who really understood him. You remembered the first time you noticed it, him sitting in the back of the classroom, headphones in, sketching lyrics on the corner of his notebook instead of paying attention to algebra. There was something magnetic about him even then, the way he carried both brilliance and chaos, a storm of emotion that always seemed one step ahead of the world. Everyone else thought he was “weird” or “distant,” but you just… got it. You didn’t judge.

High school wasn’t easy for either of you, but with Abel, it was different. The long nights spent wandering empty streets after school, the quiet hours where you two just sat on rooftops listening to the hum of the city and talking about everything and nothing, it felt like a world you could only share with him. You’d been there when he’d spiral, when the loneliness and pressure built up and he’d retreat into his music or his own thoughts. You’d seen him cry quietly in your car after arguments he couldn’t talk about and scribble lyrics frantically as if the pen could bleed out the ache in his chest.

When he dropped out, people judged him. Teachers called him a lost cause. Friends drifted away. But you didn’t. You stuck by him because you’d seen the other side, the creative fire, the depth, the intensity that no one else could touch. You’d been there for the nights when he experimented with anything he could get his hands on, not out of recklessness alone, but to feel, to numb, to understand what life could be when it blurred just enough to take the edge off. You tried a few things with him, curious about the effects and willing to share his pain, because it was never about the high, it was about connection. About being there for each other when the world didn’t make sense.

By 2015, Abel’s life had changed, but some things stayed the same. He was working on Beauty Behind the Madness, pouring every ounce of himself into the music, still restless, still intense, still carrying the kind of darkness that could make the quietest room feel heavy. Fame was creeping in, interviews, performances, fans screaming outside venues. But in your little bubble of a world, it didn’t matter. In his place, it was still just the two of you, still just Abel, still just your bond that had been built on years of nights like this.

Tonight, the place smelled faintly of incense and leftover smoke, with a hint of something sweet lingering from whatever he’d been experimenting with earlier. The dim glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the couch where he was sprawled out, dreadlocks falling across his forehead, half shading his dark eyes. His laptop hummed softly in the background, beats unfinished but pulsing, raw and hypnotic. Just like him.

He leaned back, handing you the blunt he’d rolled earlier. “You ever think about how fucked up it all is?” he asked, exhaling smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. “Like… everything feels heavier than it should..”