#The redacted is mainly because it won't make sense out of context

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @strandnreyes @alrightbuckaroo @jesuisici33 @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @carlos-tk @thisbuildinghasfeelings @three-drink-amy and @paperstorm 🧡

It's 2016 in Flashback Fic and TK has had a rough day. Let's meet his dealer, Spike:

Over by the window, Spike is smoking a joint and staring mournfully at the distant Tribute in Light – two blue beams like endless neon rods piercing into the night sky.

“Can’t believe it’s been fifteen years,” he says, wandering to the couch to pass the joint to TK, who takes a hit and passes it to Dan. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Strand,” he adds, “The [redated], too. Fuck.” He crouches by TK; TK watches as Spike drags at his lip to reveal a missing molar. “Had my tooth knocked out that way.” Spike shakes his head. He’s only twenty-eight, but he seems fifty for all his lived experience. "I do have something that’ll make you feel a lot better, though.”

One charming thing about Spike is how he carts drugs around in one of those old lady red-white-blue bags. He keeps a bed sheet poking out of the half-zipped opening, so it always looks like he’s on his way to the laundromat. He hoists the bag from where he dumped it aside the couch, and from a black sack within, he withdraws a packet of something pale beige.

“Heroin?” TK asks. He’s only half-sure. He hasn’t fucked with heroin before. All sorts of pills, booze, cocaine, concoctions of purple drank, sure – but never heroin or meth, and he’s never huffed solvents or computer cleaner. That shit’ll kill you. 

“With a magic touch of powdered milk,” Spike says eagerly, “I call it Cream. And, ladies, a little bit goes a long way.”

“I’m not injecting shit,” TK says, “I’m on fucking PEP. Last thing I need is an infected needle.”

“Who said anything about injecting?” Dan tuts, “I’m not collapsing my veins.”

Spike cuts the ‘Cream’ on the kitchen counter with his library card and Dan rolls the dollar bills – he’s got a knack. Spike is meticulous, very keen that they don’t overdose. He’s quite thoughtful for a dealer. But then, it’s a smart business investment for his clients to live.

They snort what TK thinks must be exactly the right amount, because they’re all sitting on the kitchen floor now, but it also feels like floating on a warm jet of air. TK has no regrets. He forgets about [redacted]. He doesn’t feel bad at all about what happened to him a couple of nights ago. He doesn’t care that he’s paying for heroin out of the $50 that guy gave him because he thought he was a hooker, and TK accepted the money as a fuck you.

He doesn’t know what it’s going to take to overcome an addiction to this.

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