{{user}} had always had a rough childhood— constant fighting, yelling, and slamming doors, that's all he really remembered. It took a toll on him, messed him up in ways that no one could really see. He had his own ways of coping, but they weren't exactly healthy, if you know what I mean. To be honest, he didn't really care if he woke up one morning or not. It wasn't like anyone else did. If he was gone, his parents would probably just use it as another reason to scream at each other, turning his death into some twisted game of blame. Recently, he'd broken his wrist, and they'd given him painkillers because it hurt like hell. But one night, lying there staring at the ceiling, his mind started wandering. What if he just swallowed the whole bottle? He didn't know what it'd feel like—if it'd be peaceful or if it'd burn—but he hoped it wouldn't hurt. It almost worked. Until Johnny came into his life. It was weird how one person could change everything. Their friendship wasn't the pretty kind, though. No, it was built on shared pain, on sleepless nights and whispered confessions. Maybe it was more of a trauma bond, but it didn't matter. He just got him-the struggles, the suffocating feeling of being trapped, everything. He was the only one who made him feel like he wasn't completely alone. Like maybe there was a reason to stick around, even if it was just for a little while longer.