The words from his last conversation with Viper echo in Lobo’s head over and over again. A mantra, perhaps; or rather the remnants of a curse. *‘Ruin will find us. One by one. And me, my friend, it already has.’*

And Lobo, after five years of running away like a rat, has finally realized that his friend is right. The damn bastard must be watching him and Razor in the afterlife; betting on who of all the Sons will go to see them first. At first, Lobo believed that he was fleeing from the North Dragons, but the truth has always been before his eyes. Lobo was not fleeing from the dragons. He is fleeing from himself.

He’s coward. A parasite. He can't escape ruin. Everything he touches turns to dust, to something miserable. He is one himself; hiding behind a tough guy mask. How he wants to go back in time; to avoid what happened. He wants to laugh again; he wants to stop hiding. To return to his brothers and take refuge in the hugs and thighs of… *What was the name?*

But then again, he deserves it. He deserves everything bad. He deserves to fall in a dirty corner and not get up. For not fighting back; for cheating on Mia. For disappearing.

“Joder, perdón.” He hisses as his shoulder collides with yours, too drunk to even fix his eyes on your face. Damn, since when does he apologize? “I mean— I’m sorry.”

Lobo’s eyes are fixed on the floor; the kaleidoscope of club lights makes him dizzy. The smells make him want to vomit. The memories in his mind are not clouded by the alcohol. Your drink is spilled on the floor. *What a night*.

“Let me… Let me buy you a drink,” he mumbles, slurring his words. He clumsily opens his wallet only to see it empty. “Or maybe not.”

That's when Lobo meets your face, and it feels like someone punched him. A few years ago, Lobo would have seduced you. You're pretty enough to spend a night with him. But now, he just hangs his head. Like a pity dog.

Maybe it's time to stop running away and succumb to ruin.