“Are you seriously still blaming yourself for all that shit with Nathan? It was years ago, Jey - and an accident. You couldn’t have known.”

“Should’ve known. Should’ve ‘fessed up. Taken responsibility.”

“The responsibility wasn’t yours to fucking take, so no, you shouldn’t have.”

They found themselves at a stalemate, as they often did, his eyes melting into theirs as they stared each other down. Usually, they would’ve backed down by now, or at least gone reluctantly quiet - refusing to admit defeat or continue arguing - but this… they’d spent two years convincing themself that it was all their fault, for selling Nathan those stupid pills. An evening of T telling them otherwise wasn’t going to do a thing to shift their opinion.

“Okay. I’m gonna break this down for you, slowly.” He began, obviously irritated but also refusing to back down. “First of all, you only sold him the shit, you didn’t force it down his throat, did ya?” He paused, staring meaningfully into their eyes, and, after a moment, they shook their head. “Good. Second, there wasn’t ‘out up with the pills themselves. Was there?” Again, they obliged him, and he nodded approvingly. “And third, he took a cocktail of all sorts of shit, and was pretty wasted while he did it. So most of the pills weren’t your shit and he only made it worse for himself with the alcohol.”

“You think it was suicide?” They’d asked the question before, they knew - the words felt familiar rolling off their tongue - but they asked it again, nonetheless.

“I think he was pissed out of his mind and didn’t know what the fuck he was doin’.” And the answer felt familiar to their ears too, so perhaps T’s views hadn’t changed, and the question was pointless. “But he had a lot of shit on him, so maybe he’d been planning something - I don’t know. The pigs said it was accidental, but who fucking knows.”

“He could’ve… been holding onto it. For someone.” They offered, not even truly believing the suggestion themself. “Might’ve wanted to be a dealer.”

“Stop. Trying. To. Blame. Yourself.” Groaning, he sat back, his head hitting the bedroom wall with a soft thud. “He wasn’t ‘following in your footsteps’, or whatever shit you were tryin’ to go with just then. Just… Jey, this wasn’t your fault, and, even if it was, the people who actually matter - the pigs - don’t think it was your fault, so lay off blaming yourself for a bit, a’ight? We got better things to worry about.”

“Like GCSEs?”

“Okay, you can stop talking now.” The stalemate erased, they both chuckled, gulping down their respective drinks and setting their eyes back on the blaring TV screen. For now, it was okay.

For now, they could just not think about it, and it would all fade away.