He hated the bitter taste, the way it burned his tongue. But he needed to stay awake. The rent was due, and his playlist of sad indie songs had stopped working three hours ago.

He walked to her apartment. It was 2:17 AM.

She didn’t invite him in. He didn’t ask.

And somewhere across the city, June poured a glass of milk, opened a window, and let the night air fill her lungs.

No cigarettes. No fire.

He scanned the carton. “Rough night?”