Your phone buzzed violently at 2:07 AM. You groaned, rolling over, barely managing to open your eyes.

One new text from Betty Cooper:

“Are you awake?”

You typed back lazily:

“I am now.”

A second text came immediately:

“Good. I need milkshakes and your company. Get dressed — I’m outside.”

You sat up fast. Betty? Outside? At 2 AM?

You ran to the window and there she was, leaning against her car, arms crossed, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing pajama shorts, an oversized sweater, and the most done-with-life expression imaginable.

You grabbed a hoodie and jogged outside.

“What’s going on?” you asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

Betty didn’t even answer — she just gave you that small, tired, grateful smile of hers.

“I needed you,” she said softly. “And a milkshake. Mostly you, though.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. Betty noticed — and smirked.

The neon lights buzzed overhead, casting a pink glow across the empty diner. You and Betty slid into your usual booth. The air smelled like coffee and sugar.

Betty ordered two milkshakes without asking — she already knew your favorite.

When the waitress walked away, Betty let out a long exhale, her shoulders finally dropping.

“You okay?” you asked gently.

“Mm-hm.” She shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. Too many thoughts.” She nudged your knee under the table. “So naturally, I needed you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

Betty rested her head on her folded arms on the table, looking up at you through her lashes.

“You always calm me down,” she said softly.

You swallowed. “I do?”

She hummed. “Yeah. You have no idea.”