The results flooded the page: 1998-2019. Legends Never Die. Goodbye & Good Riddance.
He closed the laptop.
The cursor blinked on the laptop screen, mocking him. "You searched for Juice Wrld." 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.
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." The results flooded the page: 1998-2019
Leo leaned back. Two years ago, he was that kid. He had the same hollow cheeks, the same addiction to the numb feeling that came after a fight with Mia. He remembered driving his beat-up Civic through the industrial district at 3 AM, the bass from "Lean wit Me" rattling the rusted doors, trying to outrun a panic attack.
He didn't need to search for Juice Wrld anymore. He had finally learned how to live with the ghost. He closed the laptop
He hadn't meant to type it. His fingers just moved on their own, a muscle memory from a darker time. He pressed Enter.