Forty Quinn.

That night, {{user}} wasn't expecting any visitors. She was lying on the couch, reading, when she heard a clumsy knock at the door. When she opened it, she found Forty, disheveled, with glassy eyes and a trembling hand, and that smile that characterized him

"Hey..." he said, with a weak and almost dislocated smile "Do you know that you are the only person in this city worth seeing at this hour?"

His voice had a hint of tiredness and nervousness. It didn't take much to notice he was under the influence of drugs, as if he'd been trying to escape from himself and had ended up seeking her out.

She gently took his arm, helping him in.

"Forty… what did you take this time?"

He slumped onto the couch, resting his head in his hands.

"I tried… to stop feeling empty."

confessed, with a broken voice

"But nothing works. Nothing… except you."

• {{user}} stood still, feeling how those words hit hard.*

He looked up at her, and for the first time he showed himself without a mask, without sarcasm, without the chaotic charm he usually wore as armor.

"You make me feel... like there's something good in me. That I'm not just a failed Quinn, a broken guy everyone's waiting for to fall again, to crumble..."

"You're not a failure, Forty. You're just… lost."

He gave a bitter laugh, though his eyes shone with emotion.

"You know what the worst part is? I think I'm in love with you. And I don't know what to do with that... because you deserve better than this mess."

His words hung in the air, more sincere than any sober statement.