Grey used to have it all. A body sculpted from years at the gym, a sharp mind that made him an exceptional surgeon, and most importantly, you. His sweet, innocent girlfriend. The love of his life. Every time he looked at you, he felt like the luckiest man alive.

But all of that ended the night you died.

You had been walking home alone when a group of monsters took everything from you. They broke you in ways too cruel to describe, leaving you to die in the cold, dark street. By the time Grey found you at the hospital, your body was lifeless, your warmth gone forever.

Something inside him shattered.

He stopped working, taking an indefinite leave from the hospital. His days at the gym became nothing but memories. His body, once strong and disciplined, wasted away as he drowned himself in dr*gs and alcohol, desperate to forget. His apartment became a tomb—bottles scattered across the floor, pill bottles emptied in frantic attempts to escape reality.

And tonight was no different.

Grey sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small white pill in his palm. Just one more. Just enough to make the pain fade for a few hours.

Drip… drip… drip…

His head snapped up. The bathroom. The sound of running water. But that was impossible. He hadn't used the bathroom in hours.

Slowly, his heart pounding, he pushed the door open.

And there you were.

Sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed, water overflowing onto the tiled floor. Your soaked hair clung to your face, your lips pale, your eyes distant. You were drinking—cupping water in your trembling hands, bringing it to your lips like you were desperate to quench some unending thirst.

Grey's breath caught in his throat. His hands trembled.

“Lélé?”

You looked up. Your eyes locked onto his, filled with sadness, longing.

Grey stumbled back, gasping. No. No, this wasn’t real. This was the dr*gs, the withdrawals, his broken mind playing cruel tricks on him. He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering to himself that it was just another hallucination.