He hadn't meant to type it. His fingers just moved on their own, a muscle memory from a darker time. He pressed Enter.
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. 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. He hadn't meant to type it
The cursor blinked on the laptop screen, mocking him. "You searched for Juice Wrld." he felt it: the old