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Minutes pass. Maybe longer. The weight of the world softens in stages.

Until the door creaks open again.

“Okay, I know I’m supposed to wait and let you rest,” Reese whispers like a hurricane trying to tiptoe. “But screw that.”

She doesn’t ask if she can come in. Just dives under the covers like we’re seventeen again and sneaking into each other’s dorm rooms between heartbreaks and history papers.

I laugh. A real, hoarse, still-healing kind of laugh.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you almost died,” she shoots back, leveling me with a look that could melt concrete. “You don’t get to be mad I couldn’t wait.”

She’s already reaching for my hand when she softens. “You look better.”

“I feel… like I got hit by a bus. But like, a luxury bus.”

Reese snorts. “You would almost die and still be dramatic.”

I glance over. “So? Tell me. What did I miss?”

Reese’s grin could split galaxies. “The band finished the album. Fletch powered through like a freaking machine. Alex postponed the tour till next year. Said it didn’t feel right without you.”

My heart tightens. “He did?”

“Yep. Said they’d rather wait than promote anything while we were all half-alive.”

She wriggles closer, her head propped on one elbow. “Oh, and Eli’s first birthday party? Freaking rockstar themed. Mohawk wig and everything.”

I blink, a strange ache blooming behind my ribs. “You told me about that… in the dream. You were sitting on my bed with a sketchbook and coffee. Said you were planning it. I thought I imagined it.”

Her eyes well up, her lip trembling as she whispers, “Maybe some part of you knew. That we were still with you.”

My vision goes watery, the world blurring at the edges. “I remember you laughing. Talking about temporary tattoos and inflatable guitars.”

“We did all of it,” she chokes out, swiping her cheek. “It was perfect. But not the same without you.”

I close my eyes, letting the memory wash over me like a wave I’m finally strong enough to ride.

“I missed it all,” I whisper.

“No,” Reese says fiercely. “You made it back. That’s what matters.”

And in that moment—wrapped in soft sheets, warm tea on the nightstand, Reese curled beside me like a piece of my soul I almost lost—I believe her.

Because I did come back.

I say the words like a mantra, my voice barely above a whisper, but they echo in the stillness after Reese leaves, loud enough to fill the empty corners of the room. She kissed my cheek, promised she’d come by tomorrow, and threatened to bring muffins so dry I’d fake another coma just to escape them. And then she was gone—just like that. A whirlwind of floral perfume and fierce, familiar love.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting the silence wrap around me like a weighted blanket. The kind you don’t know you need until it’s already crushing you in the best way.

Sleep drags me under before I can finish the thought.

When I wake, the sun is gone. Replaced by a moody dusk bleeding through the curtains, soft and honeyed at the edges, like the sky’s been sipping on wine and forgot it was supposed to set.

There are voices coming from the kitchen.

Laughter. The low thrum of teasing. Something clangs—probably a pot or someone’s ego—and then someone else curses under their breath.