"What if who I am really doesn't want to be here right now?"

He thought that was a pretty valid question, right there. Who he was was a damaged child staring down his original poison, looking at the older, still too damn familiar face of the sleeping man on the couch. And the familiar face hadn't known him when he'd answered the door. He wouldn't have known him when he answered the door. In this reality, Sparkle had never been so much as a thought. Carla had been, and she'd never gotten a chance.

There was nothing about this place that made him want to be here. Not a single fucking thing.