For a moment, the room was silent except for the rain. Then, from his phone on the nightstand, a notification buzzed. He glanced over.
He remembered the night Jarad—no, Juice —died. Leo had been at a house party. Someone got the news on their phone. The room didn't go quiet; it went cold . A dozen kids who used his lyrics as therapy suddenly realized their therapist was mortal.
He clicked the first video. A younger version of himself—baggy jeans, a shattered phone screen, and eyes that held too much hurt—stared back from the thumbnail. The beat dropped. That pitched-up voice crooned about heartbreak and purple potions. You searched for Juice Wrld
Spotify: Because you listened to Juice Wrld in 2021...
Leo leaned back. Two years ago, he was that kid. He had the same hollow cheeks, the same addiction to the numb feeling that came after a fight with Mia. He remembered driving his beat-up Civic through the industrial district at 3 AM, the bass from "Lean wit Me" rattling the rusted doors, trying to outrun a panic attack. For a moment, the room was silent except for the rain
He closed the laptop.
He grabbed the phone and deleted the notification without reading it. Then he put on his sneakers, grabbed his keys, and walked out into the rain. He remembered the night Jarad—no, Juice —died
The cursor blinked on the laptop screen, mocking him. "You searched for Juice Wrld."
He hadn't meant to type it. His fingers just moved on their own, a muscle memory from a darker time. He pressed Enter.