“Just put it on.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t argue. The fabric swallows her, hem brushing her thighs, and for a second, she looks smaller. Her fingers bunch in the collar, tugging it close as she murmurs, “Thanks.”
The door creaks open.
It’s Miles.
He looks wrecked—hoodie half-zipped, a vein still pulsing in his neck, jaw clenched hard enough to break his teeth. His eyes go straight to Chloe, then to me, then back to her.
“Can we talk?” he says.
I don’t know if he means her or me, but she answers for both of us when she shakes her head. No hesitation. Just a small, tired movement.
Then she takes my hand.
“Come on,” she says, voice low.
I don’t look at him as she pulls me toward the door. I can feel Miles’s stare burning holes in the back of my skull, but I don’t turn around. Not tonight.
Outside, the air is cold. My breath comes out in clouds. The music from inside fades into a distant hum as we cross the lawn. Her hand is still in mine, small and warm.
“You cold?” she asks suddenly.
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
She stops, turning to face me. Her eyes glint under the streetlight—pale and uncertain, but steady. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. I know this is all… confusing.”
Her voice cracks at the end.
“Hey.” I reach out, touch her hand again. It’s soft, trembling. I curl my fingers around it gently. “Breathe.”
She does. A shaky inhale, then a long exhale that makes her shoulders drop a little.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, then whispers, “I just want to go home.”
I nod too. “You sober enough?”
A tiny smile flickers across her lips. “The run helped.”
I chuckle under my breath. “Guess streaking has its perks.”
That earns me a small laugh. The kind that sounds like it’s half relief.
Her hair’s fallen loose around her face, and I reach up without thinking, tucking a strand behind her ear. My thumb brushes her cheek, and she doesn’t move away.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s get you home.”
We walk together across the quiet campus, the wet grass soaking through my sneakers. The night smells like rain and smoke. Her Honda Civic is parked crooked at the curb, glinting under the lamplight.
I can feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket. Once. Twice. A pause, then again. Miles, probably. Could be my father. It doesn’t matter. I’m not in the mood to play cleanup for anyone tonight.
Chloe unlocks the car, then turns back to me, hesitating like she’s not sure what to do next.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“It’s all okay.” I mean it.
