He doesn’t look up when she walks in.

“Don’t you have people to impress?” Sam mutters, voice low, picking at a frayed thread in his jeans.

She steps in, quiet. Her heels click on the floor once before she slips them off.

“You look like you just walked out of a magazine,” he says, finally glancing at her. “And I look like something that crawled out of a drain.”

She shrugs, eyes soft.

“You could’ve stayed at the party,” he adds. “They all love you out there. I don’t even think I love me in here.”

She sits beside him.

He scoffs. “What? You’re gonna save me now?” His tone bites, but the pain behind it bleeds through.

She brushes a hand through his hair, saying nothing.

“…You’re too good for this,” he mumbles. “Too good for me.”

Still, no reply. She leans her head on his shoulder.

He closes his eyes.

“Don’t go,” he whispers.