Aubrey woke up feeling like someone had unplugged her from the wall halfway through the night. Not fully dead, not fully alive—just blinking at her ceiling like the drywall might offer her life advice.

It didn’t.

She lay there for a full minute, wrapped like a burrito in her blanket, refusing to move. If she moved, then she had to deal with thoughts. And feelings. And yesterday. And the fact that she’d fallen asleep replaying every mistake she made in the last forty-eight hours like they were TikToks she didn’t ask to see.

Eventually she rolled out of bed. Not gracefully—more like a body falling off a shelf.

Her phone buzzed. She ignored it.

She washed her face. Useless.

Tied her hair. Also useless.

Put on a sweatshirt that had seen better days. Extremely useless.

Then she walked out of her apartment because staying inside meant staring at her feelings directly, and she wasn’t emotionally stable enough for that.

The air outside hit her like a cold slap she kind of deserved. She crossed the street with her hood half on, half off, walking toward the one place that always had noise loud enough to drown her thoughts: the coffee shop.

The line was short. Her brain was shorter.

She ordered a drink with so much sugar it should’ve come with a warning label. When the barista called her name, she reached out—then someone else’s hand crossed over hers and grabbed the cup.

She didn’t even have to look.

“Seriously?” Aubrey asked.

Chase lifted her drink like Simba on the cliff. “Good morning to you too.”

“Give it,” she said.

“No.”

“Why are you like this?”

He pretended to think. “Genetics.”

She grabbed the cup out of his hand before he could say anything else and walked to a small table in the corner.

He followed.

Of course he followed.

He sat across from her, flipping the chair backward before sitting down like this was an audition for *High School Musical 4: The Chaotic Friend*.

“You look like hell,” he said cheerfully.

“Thanks,” Aubrey said. “You always know how to boost morale.”

“I try.” Chase leaned back, watching her too closely. “Rough night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Great,” he said. “Then we won’t.”

He actually shut up.  

For ten seconds.

Then:

“So—”

“No.” Aubrey didn’t even look up.

He laughed quietly. “Right. No. Got it.”

She took a sip of her drink. Sweet. Artificial. Comforting in the way junk food was comforting—no questions asked, no emotional follow-up.

Her brain, however, did not get the memo. It kept circling yesterday like a dog chasing its tail.

Chase leaned his arms on the table. “Okay, real talk. You’re doing that thing where you pretend you’re fine, but your whole face is telling on you.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You’re absolutely not.”

She groaned and put her head down on the table. “Shut up.”

“Never happening.”

She lifted her head just enough to glare. “You have too much energy.”

“I have depth.”

“No. You have chaos.”

Chase gasped. “That’s hurtful.”

“You’ll live.”

He tapped a finger against her cup. “You’re going to crash in thirty minutes.”

“Yep.”

“Before or after the existential crisis?”

“During.”

He snorted.

For a moment, he just sat there, watching her—not pitying, not pushing, just… paying attention in the way only Chase somehow knew how to do.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” Aubrey said. It came out small.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’m sitting here.”

She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t fix anything.”

“Not trying to fix it,” he said simply. “Just staying.”

Aubrey blinked.

She wasn’t used to people staying.

After a while, her shoulders relaxed just enough that she could finally breathe properly.

Chase tapped the table. “So. On a scale from one to catastrophic—”

“Stop.”

“—how badly do you want to hide today?”

Aubrey stared at him. “You’re extremely annoying.”

“You say that every time and yet—” he stretched his arms dramatically, “—here I am.”

She hated that she kind of wanted to smile.

He lowered his voice. “Caleb asked about you.”

Her whole chest tightened. “When?”

“Last night.”

“What did he say?”

Chase shrugged. “Just asked if you were okay.”

“I’m not,” she said before she could stop herself.

“I know.”

“And you told him I was fine?” she asked.

Chase hesitated. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he said slowly, “I only get one ‘Aubrey emotional disaster announcement’ token per week, and I spent it yesterday.”

She groaned. “Chase.”

“Okay,” he corrected, “because it wasn’t my place. And because I thought maybe you’d want to talk to him yourself.”

Her stomach twisted. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Yeah,” Chase said. “I figured.”

Aubrey looked down at her cup. “I’m scared.”

“Of him?”

“Of me,” she said. “Of messing this up. Of wanting something I might not be ready for.”

Chase leaned forward. “You don’t have to be ready for everything at once.”

She didn’t answer.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” he added. “You just can’t let it make all your decisions.”

She stared at him. “When did you get wise?”

“Five minutes ago,” he said. “I don’t love it.”

Aubrey snorted. The tiniest laugh, but still a laugh.

Chase stood suddenly. “Okay. My job is done.”

“What job?”

“Operation: Make You Less Miserable.”

“That’s not a real operation.”

“Everything’s an operation if you commit.”

He stepped back, then paused. His expression softened in a way Chase rarely let anyone see.

“You don’t have to run from people who actually want to stay,” he said.

Aubrey froze.

But he didn’t wait for her reaction. He pushed open the door and walked out into the street, disappearing into the flow of people like he hadn’t just said something that would bother her for the rest of the day.

Aubrey sat there long after the drink lost all its warmth.

She didn’t know if she was supposed to stay put or get up or run home or call Caleb or block Chase or cry or breathe.

So she did the only thing she felt capable of:

She sat with it.

With all of it.

And for once, she didn’t feel completely crushed by the weight.

Just… aware.

Maybe that was a start.