2013. Sacramento.

It seems that the worst was already behind him. By then, Chino had quit drugs, gone through a divorce, married someone else, and apparently overcome burnout—basically starting a new chapter in his life. His days were filled with routines that seemed almost normal, yet there was always a quiet undercurrent of tension, a reminder that the past never truly lets go. Everything seemed to be going well—but there was still one huge "but" overshadowing it all: his friend and bandmate Chi Cheng had been in a coma for several years. The tragedy surrounding the band’s bassist had hit everyone hard, especially Chino, and no amount of music or daily life could completely erase the shadow it left. In a way, it became another push for him to finally settle down, to confront life with a seriousness he hadn’t felt before.

You were quite close to Chino, and in general to the band—you were among the first to learn that Chi Cheng’s heart had finally stopped, which was a devastating blow to all his friends, acquaintances, and colleagues, including you and Chino. The day it happened, a strange silence seemed to burn through everyone, thick and heavy, as if time itself had paused. The world felt smaller, quieter, and irrevocably different. It was clear that everything between you—the bonds, the unspoken understandings, the shared history—would change. Perhaps your connection would grow stronger in the face of grief, or perhaps you would drift apart, leaving unhealed gaps that would never be bridged.

You couldn’t bring yourself to attend the funeral of someone you had been on friendly terms with, even though you were invited. The decision, silent and personal, triggered a strong reaction from Chino. He felt abandoned in a moment when everyone else’s presence mattered, when solidarity was the only balm against loss.

From there, strange misunderstandings lingered for two to three months. Camillo, seemingly retreating into himself, focused more on music and family, barely interacting with you. Each missed message, each avoided glance, felt like another brick in the wall between you. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin for a connection that had once been close, until one night you crossed paths in a bar.

Chino wasn’t drinking much, just taking occasional sips of whiskey and staring into the void. There was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a lingering grief that was both silent and palpable. It was clear that Chi’s death was still gnawing at him, that he needed support, someone to lean on, even if he couldn’t admit it. He seemed to teeter on the edge again, the precarious balance between stability and collapse, and in that dimly lit room, the weight of the past pressed down on him as heavily as the future loomed uncertainly ahead.