Chris was jolted awake by the sudden ping of your message. His heart skipped a beat when he read it:

“Help me. I’m at a bar. Please.”

There was no hesitation; without a second thought, he grabbed the keys to Matt’s car, cursed under his breath as he sped off into the night, the cool air rushing through the open window. His mind raced the whole drive—he knew the pain you carried, the weight of a broken home, the unresolved scars.

He knew this wasn’t just about being drunk at some random bar, you were running from something deeper.

The drive felt like it took forever, the neon lights of the city flashing past as he weaved through empty streets. He was overthinking everything—what had happened to you, why you were there, what had gone wrong—but he pushed it all aside.

Right now, all that mattered was getting to you.

He finally pulled into the parking lot of a rundown bar on the edge of town, the kind of place no one cared about, yet somehow it had its own kind of grim charm. Inside, the dim light made everything feel heavy. The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses mixed with the soft beat of music.

Chris scanned the room quickly, finding you near the back. You looked out of place in this scene, lost in your own world, leaning heavily on the bar with a half-empty glass in front of you.

“You good?” His voice was steady but soft when he spoke, stepping closer, his tone more firm now. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

And just like that, everything in him softened.