Negative thoughts have disappeared, and Eren is left with that all-too-familiar buzz in his fingertips that stretch for his phone, the late night hour of 3 am blaring in the dark room. It’s become a routine: smoke a blunt and message {{user}}. Despite their protests and complaints, they’ve never denied Eren anything.

Multiple of his calls have been sent straight to voicemail. His fingers tap incessantly on the screen, eager to persuade them to come over. Three dots pop up, and he waits.