But as the chorus swelled, he felt it: the old, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't sadness. It was nostalgia for the sadness. Juice Wrld had been the soundtrack to almost losing himself completely.
Leo stared at the white search bar. It was 2:17 AM. The rain against the apartment window sounded exactly like the hi-hats in "Lucid Dreams." You searched for Juice Wrld
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. But as the chorus swelled, he felt it: