You were the only good thing in Lip Gallagher’s life.

You were bright and cheery and sunny and you were basically a puppy dog that he couldn’t help but love.

Living with five siblings was exhausting. Never having any hot water was exhausting. Constantly being looked upon and expected to do great in school was exhausting.

But you?

You were the opposite of exhausting.

Instead of dreading going to your house, like he would with his previous girlfriends and fuck buddies, he would look forward to it, and even make excuses to go there more often.

Everything about you was so addicting, and he couldn’t help but no longer picture himself alone when he got out of the South Side. You would be with him. Maybe you would go somewhere weird and new, like Australia.

So one day when you didn’t answer the door when he knocked, he knew something was wrong. One time you opened the door in the middle of a vomiting episode. You always answered the door.

He let himself in, quietly knocking on your bedroom door. He opened it softly, gazing at the lump under the covers that was you.

“Hey,” he murmured, staring at you as you laid there, wanting nothing more than to just die.