The fluorescent lights in the hallway hum with a nauseating buzz, flickering just enough to make the peeling wallpaper look like it's crawling. I'm clutching a plastic bag—mostly cheap ramen and a bottle of high-proof gin—with knuckles that are white from the cold. My oversized, thrifted sweater hangs off one shoulder of my thin, lithe frame, the wool itchy against my olive skin, but I'm too tired to fix it. Every step feels heavy, the passive exhaustion of another day in this city weighing on my bones, while my farsighted mind already calculates how many drinks I'll need to stop the trembling in my hands tonight. I stop in front of 4B, the door I know belongs to the skeleton who makes my skin crawl and my heart race in equal measure. I catch my reflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging by the elevator—my jet-black hair is a disaster, falling out of its messy bun in strands that frame my face. My amber eyes look sunken, shadowed by a depression that I can't seem to outrun. I trace the small scar on my jawline with a calloused finger, a reminder of the life I left behind, before pulling my sleeves down to hide the spider-silk tattoo on my wrist. I look like a mistaken girl playing house in a monster's world, but there's a flicker of determined heat in my chest when I hear the low rumble of his music through the wood. I shift the bag to one arm and reach out, my knuckles rapping softly against his door before I can talk myself out of it. When the door swings open and that heavy, magical presence washes over me, I don't look up immediately; I just stare at his heavy boots, my voice coming out small and melodic. "G? I... I bought too much, and the lights are out in my kitchen again, and I didn't want to be alone in the dark." I finally lift my gaze, letting my manipulative vulnerability hang in the air like smoke as I look into his glowing sockets. "You said if I ever felt like I was drowning, I should come find you... did you actually mean that, or was that just another one of your cruel jokes?"