Aubrey woke up Saturday morning with one clear thought: she did not want to be awake. Not even a little. Her brain felt like someone had stuffed it with packing peanuts. Her eyes burned. Her body protested every attempt to move.

She pulled the blanket over her head and considered staying in bed forever. Not in a dramatic “my life is tragic” way—just in a “getting up requires too much energy and I’m not doing that” way.

She checked the time. 9:42 a.m.

She groaned into her pillow. Somehow she was both exhausted and hungry. Which felt rude.

Her phone buzzed.

She didn’t move.  

It buzzed again.  

And again.

She finally reached for it, blind-tapping until she found the screen.

Caleb: Morning. Hope you’re getting some rest today.

Aubrey stared at the text.  

Rest.  

Sure. If she could convince her brain to stop narrating everything wrong in her life like a documentary.

She typed back:

Aubrey: Trying.

Caleb: Good.

Simple. Calm. Predictable.  

Very Caleb.

Her phone buzzed again, too quickly to be him.

Chase: You awake yet?

Aubrey: No.

Chase: You answered though.

Aubrey: That was an accident.

Chase: Cool. I forgive you.  

Chase: Also I’m outside.

Aubrey bolted upright. Too fast. She immediately regretted it as her vision blurred.

Aubrey: WHAT. WHY.

Chase: I brought food!  

Chase: And coffee.  

Chase: And possibly a donut.  

Chase: Open your door.

She typed at the speed of panic.

Aubrey: NO.

Chase: Too late. I’m buzzing.

And then her intercom rang.

She threw her head back in silent suffering. “Why does he do this to me,” she muttered.

She shuffled to the door, hair a disaster, wearing an oversized T-shirt that said “NOPE” in big letters, which honestly felt appropriate.

She cracked the door.

Chase stood there with a paper bag, a drink tray, and the exact same chaotic grin that made her want to scream and sort of smile at the same time.

“Morning,” he said. “You look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“I was going to say ‘cozy.’”

“That’s a lie.”

“It absolutely is.”

He handed her the bag. “Breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask for breakfast.”

“You never ask,” he said, stepping in like it was his apartment, “so I bring it.”

Aubrey closed the door and stared at him. “Do you… ever rest?”

“Not really,” he said. “I get bored too fast.”

She believed that. Entirely.

She opened the bag and pulled out a breakfast burrito. It smelled like heaven. Or at least like something that would keep her alive for another three hours.

She took a bite. “Oh my god.”

Chase smirked. “Good?”

“Yes,” she said through a mouthful. “Annoyingly.”

He flopped onto her couch without asking. “So. What’s the plan today? Napping? Crying? Running away?”

“None,” she said. “All I want is a day without responsibilities.”

“Great. Let’s cancel your responsibilities.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“It can be.”

“It cannot.”

He shrugged. “Okay, then I’ll just sit here and observe your natural habitat.”

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Too late.”

She inhaled deeply and sat on the opposite side of the couch, hugging her burrito like it was emotional support.

Chase watched her for a moment, then said, “You feel better today?”

“No.”

“Feel worse?”

“Also no.”

“So… floating in the middle?”

“Like a depressed balloon.”

He snorted. “Excellent imagery.”

She kicked his foot lightly. “Shut up.”

He nudged her back. “Hey. Seriously. You okay?”

She looked at him, really looked. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t performing. His expression softened in a way she didn’t see often.

“I’m… tired,” she said finally.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

He didn’t push.  

And that helped more than she expected.

They sat there in comfortable silence—well, comfortable for her; Chase looked like sitting still was painful. He tapped his leg, looked around the room, reached for the remote, changed his mind, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again.

“Are you dying?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Of boredom.”

“You’ve been here five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go do something else.”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m good here.”

She didn’t understand him. At all.  

She also didn’t ask him to leave.  

Which was probably its own kind of problem.

Her phone buzzed again.

She braced herself before looking.

Caleb: If you want to get some air later, let me know.

She stared at the message longer than necessary.

Chase noticed instantly. “Is that him?”

“Chase.”

“Just asking.”

Aubrey stuffed her phone under a pillow like that would solve anything.

She took another bite of her burrito, trying to ignore the tiny storm building in her chest.

Chase stretched out his legs. “So what’s stressing you out more? Work? Life? Or the fact that you’re getting too much attention?”

She glared at him. “I’m not getting too much attention.”

“You are absolutely getting too much attention,” he said. “You hate being perceived.”

“That is not true.”

“Aubrey. You literally apologized to a houseplant last week.”

“It looked sad!”

“You think everything is sad.”

“It was drooping.”

“Because you don’t water it.”

She threw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He caught it easily, grinning.

Then, quieter, “It’s okay, you know. Having people care.”

Something in her chest clenched.

She didn’t respond.

She didn’t have the tools for that conversation.

Instead, she got up and grabbed the coffee he brought. “I’m taking a shower. Don’t touch anything.”

“No promises.”

“Chase.”

“Fine, fine.”

She walked toward the bathroom, but before closing the door, he called out, “Hey, Aubrey?”

She paused. “What?”

“You’re doing better than you think.”

Her breath hitched—just a little.

“Go be annoying somewhere else,” she said, not looking back.

“Never.”

She closed the door and leaned her forehead against it for a moment.

She hated how much that line got to her.

When she finished showering and walked back out, Chase was flipping through TV channels like he lived there. She didn’t have the energy to be annoyed anymore.

He glanced at her. “Feel better?”

“A little.”

He smiled. “Good.”

She sat down beside him again, letting the warmth of the room—and the fact that she wasn’t alone—settle in her chest.

It scared her.

But she didn’t hate it.