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Summary
Cocaine, Chuuya remembers, was something Albatross had indulged in relatively often, even offering for the younger to try some a couple times. Each time Chuuya had turned him down with the same response of ‘I don’t need that shit,’ and that had been the end of that conversation.
“Suit yourself,” Albatross had said, shrugging. “But if you’re ever interested, come find me. It’s hella fun. Helpful too for those long nights, y’know?”
And now, Chuuya found himself staring at that small plastic baggie, unable to look away while curiosity and grief threatened to suffocate all the air from his lungs from the rush of memories.