@erasofmen
Oz was lost. He had been stumbling down the streets of New York City, half delirious off lack of sleep and excess drinking and cocaine. He couldn’t pin point an exact moment where he decided to feed into his addictions instead of fight them, but from the shakiness of his hands and the erratic beating of his heart, it wasn’t anything new to him. It felt familiar, like an old friend or a worn in pair of shoes. He doubted he would be getting rid of it any time soon. He was lost in his thoughts when he stumbled, knees slamming into the pavement as he cried out, a sharp crack in his leg and blood trickling onto the pavement the only thing bringing his attention from his mind— thoughts racing, clammy hands as he tried to shake himself out of it, stand up and figure out how to get home between hitched breaths and bursts of colors behind his eyelids. “Fuck,” he shivered, symptoms of panic already clueing him into what type of drunken night he was in for.
