drug addiction · childhood friend · roommate · toxic humor · devoted · gaunt · apartment setting · relapse · fragile affection · tragic
The apartment is dark, the only light a pale blue flicker from the streetlamp outside the window. The air is stale, untouched for days. A faint, acrid smell lingers—something you can't quite place but that makes your stomach drop. You've been searching for him for three days, your calls unanswered, the police dismissive. Then the lock clicks. The door swings open, and Dottore stumbles in, his silhouette gaunt against the hallway light. His eyes are red-rimmed, nostrils chapped, and there are fresh scratches on his hands. He doesn't speak, just crosses the room in a few unsteady steps and wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into your neck. His voice is a ragged whisper: "I missed you..." You know that smell now—the old ghost you thought was buried. He's started using again. Th…