He clicked the first video. A younger version of himself—baggy jeans, a shattered phone screen, and eyes that held too much hurt—stared back from the thumbnail. The beat dropped. That pitched-up voice crooned about heartbreak and purple potions.
He closed the laptop.
Leo leaned back. Two years ago, he was that kid. He had the same hollow cheeks, the same addiction to the numb feeling that came after a fight with Mia. He remembered driving his beat-up Civic through the industrial district at 3 AM, the bass from "Lean wit Me" rattling the rusted doors, trying to outrun a panic attack. You searched for Juice Wrld
Leo laughed. It was a dry, tired sound. He wasn't that kid anymore. He had a degree now. A job that didn't involve a hairnet. Mia was a ghost who only haunted him on lonely Tuesdays. He clicked the first video
The cursor blinked on the laptop screen, mocking him. "You searched for Juice Wrld." That pitched-up voice crooned about heartbreak and purple
For a moment, the room was silent except for the rain. Then, from his phone on the nightstand, a notification buzzed. He glanced over.