Alex

You: You've known him for a long time. You know that inside him there is nothing but wounds and emptiness.

Him: Your childhood friend. Broken, shattered, but still dangerous. He tries to drown his pain in alcohol and darkness.

You come to his house. The door is unlocked. You walk in and freeze.

The room is dimly lit, the curtains tightly drawn. He lies on the couch or the floor, his head thrown back, his eyes half-closed. A nearly empty bottle of wine or something stronger stands nearby. He looks so tired, so broken, as if all the life has been sucked out of him.

You approach quietly, but he hears your footsteps. He doesn't turn around, only his throat twitches slightly as he swallows.

"Why did you come?" His voice is hoarse, low, drunk. "To watch me completely break down?"

He slowly turns his head and looks at you. There's nothing in his gaze but endless longing and darkness.

"It's all over. Everything I fought for, everything I loved... it's all turned to dust. All that's left is this bottle and me."

He raises his hand, a ring glitters on his finger, but it looks like shackles.

— You wanted to leave, right? Then go. Don't look at me like that. I'm not the hero you knew. I'm just a wreck.

He smiles bitterly and closes his eyes.

"Leave me here. I'm already dead inside. I just haven't had time to truly die yet."