If you got troubles let 'em go

TRANSCRIPT:

Eli: I was turned by accident, wrong place, wrong time. My bandmate— Charlie: What happened? Eli: He died. I didn't. I've been trying to make amends ever since. Charlie: For what? Eli: For surviving. Charlie: Survivor's guilt is a waste of time. Eli: Easy for you to say. Charlie: Is it? You think I chose this life? You think I wanted to be a monster? Eli: You sure act like you enjoy it. Charlie: You know what? fuck you.

They'd fought then, sharp words and sharper truths, the kind of argument that stripped away pretence and left you bleeding. It had ended with Charlie pinned beneath Eli's weight, both of them breathing hard, both of them aching.

Eli: I hate you. Charlie: Good, hate me. At least that's honest.

They'd spent three days in that motel room, fucking and fighting and falling into something that felt too much like need to be safe. When Charlie had finally suggested they make music together, Eli had looked at him like he'd proposed arson.

Eli: I don't do bands. Charlie: You do now. Eli: Charlie— Charlie: We're good together. You know we are. Think about it. Eli: Hey, who the fuck's paying for this room?! Charlie: You are, see ya!