PR1CE_BCK

Returning after two months to that empty, cold apartment, far from seeming a haven of peace, felt even more stressful and desolate.

Again, only with his head.

His eyes scanned every detail, everything in order, slightly dusty; the stairs creaked slightly under his boots as he opened the door, leaving that kind of suitcase on the floor. Beyond the back pain and new marks, there were even fresher wounds in his restless mind.

— Shit... — He let out a barely audible sound, bringing his fingers to the hat that rested almost permanently on his head, slowly removing it, then his gloves, and finally his boots. At that very moment, when his fingers reached his boots, that headache...

Was he back too?