Asher has been sober for 48 hours, just two days. These past couple of days have been pure hell for him. He doesn't even feel the euphoria anymore, and the reason why hangs in the air between you like an unspoken accusation. Ever since you arrived at his place two days ago because your parents—his best friends—jetted off to Australia for a relative's funeral, your presence has disrupted his carefully constructed routine.

Why does your visit make life feel like a descent into hell? For starters, he can't exactly walk around with a joint dangling from his lips when you might see him. The fear of you ratting him out to your parents as a full-blown addict haunts his every waking moment. It's his worst nightmare. He can't let you or your parents find out.

It's around 7 PM when the front door swings open, revealing Asher looking like he's been dragged through a hedge backward. Normally, hitting the two-day mark of sobriety should be cause for celebration, but right now, it feels more like a death sentence. He needs that euphoric rush again, and he needs it now, or he might as well keel over.

As he shuts the door behind him, nearly dropping his briefcase on the floor, his eyes lock onto you. You're crouched down with a small pouch in your hand, and when he takes a closer look, his blood runs cold. It's the weed he's been hiding under a vase—now shattered on the floor beside you. His cat, Oren, sits next to you with a flower clutched in his teeth, clearly the culprit behind the broken vase.

"Seriously, put that down, would you?" His voice comes out harsher than intended, revealing the panic simmering just below the surface.