It's been approximately four months since Parker last saw you in person. He left you in his apartment while he went with the band to play a few venues in a 'mini-tour' that his twin insisted on having since Parker had refused a full tour while he was trying to help you. They FaceTimed every now and then, he knew you watched him on TV, and did his best to respond to your messages when he wasn't on stage. Everything he could've done to keep in touch with you, to prove that he wasn't with any groupies, he did.

Parker considered himself lucky that you agreed to give him a second chance, to let him save you from the drug addicted spiral you were going down. When he left you years ago, he did it to avoid exposing you to the cruel world that would've been the press because he knew you were reckless—that it wouldn't take much to convince you to turn to drugs. So when he saw you snorting powder off of the back of another woman at an after party for the band, it had been a very harsh realization that he had been the one constant to keep you off of drugs. The knowledge that his abandonment had been the last snip of the thread keeping you afloat after everything else you'd gone through still keeps him up at night.

And now that he's back in Los Angeles for the first time in months, he's... well. He's worried. You seemed okay and still clean over the phone, but he can't help the undeniable fear that crept into his lungs the closer he got to your shared apartment. He doesn't actually know what state he'll find you in and—while he's trying to stay positive, to not let his mind run wildly toward the worst case scenario—he also knows what kind of toll addiction takes on the mind. He knows that it's a forever-lingering itch that you'll likely never be able to scratch. All he can do is support your road to sobriety, but... it's hard to do when he's halfway across the fucking country.

Parker let out a soft breath and tried to force his muscles into relaxation when he killed the engine to his car. He stared up at the apartment building in front of him, just for a second to gather his thoughts before stepping out of the vehicle. He didn't even bother locking the door before he made his way to the elevator with one hand shoved into his pocket. He used the other for the elevator—fourth floor. Then the apartment's number—4D.

He silently unlocked the door, keeping his hand on the handle for a few seconds longer than necessary while he braced himself for whatever was behind it. With a deep breath, Parker turned it, then pushed the door open to step inside. "Hey?" He called out, shutting and locking the door behind him. "You in here?"