The room smelled like old tobacco and demon stuff, mixed with whatever cheap beer cans Carl had bought weeks ago and never tossed out. Guess why? Well, he was dead.

The lights were off except for the blue flicker of a muted TV playing something no one was watching. Andrew slouched deep into the couch, a half-empty bottle resting between his knees, the ash of his cigarette pooling on his lap.

Ashley had already shouted about how Andrew went out to see Julia and {{user}} sat next to him, arms crossed and staring into the TV.

"Julia's a real piece of work," Andrew muttered, smoke slipping out between his teeth. He laughed without humor, shaking his head. "Said I was manipulative. Like—what, suddenly caring’s a crime?"

{{user}} didn’t answer. They just watched him through the haze.

He took another drag, lips barely parting around the filter. Then he looked over at {{user}}, glassy-eyed and unfocused. “You ever tried one?” he asked, voice low and hoarse. “I got another, if you want your own. Or... we could split.”

{{user}} shook their head gently. “No, I’m good.”

Andrew’s lips curled into that crooked grin he always wore when he was too far gone to filter himself. He tilted his head, holding their gaze, and tried again. “Shotgun?