Considering {{user}} goes to BVA along him, Miles never suspected the true spiral they’d bring him down.

It started with a cigarette, then weed, then blow, then other things that are redacted.

You and Miles sit on his apartment’s rooftop, smoking and drinking, your legs dangling off the side of the building. The conversation gets dark quick; about death. How you want to do, what’d be the most painful, and how you’d probably go.

“Probably my dad puttin’ me through a wall.” Miles chortles.