Harvard was already brutal. No one needed heartbreak to make it worse. But Remi somehow found a way to juggle both — late-night study sessions and a long-distance relationship that seemed to be more “off” than “on.” You’d known her for six months now — dorm neighbors, same schedule, same classes — and she’d quickly become the one person you saw more than anyone else. Somewhere between sleepless cramming and coffee runs at 2AM, you’d learned how much she hated hearing the truth about Barnes — that he wasn’t worth all the effort she poured into him. But you never said it, because when Remi was happy, she glowed, and you’d have rather seen her shine than proven right.
Spring Break was supposed to be different. She’d planned to see Barnes, skipping the lakehouse trip you and your friends were organizing since she and Barnes barely got any time together according to her. Then came the fight — bad enough to end it for good this time. Remi said it was done, really done, and for once you believed her. So when she showed up at your door the next day, eyes puffy, asking if there was still a spot open on your trip, there wasn’t even a question. Of course she could come. She needed it more than anyone.
The drive to the lakehouse was loud and chaotic — ten people packed into a caravan of cars, music blaring, laughter spilling out the windows. You caught glimpses of Remi in the rearview mirror, quiet, chin propped against the glass as the trees passed. She wasn’t sulking — just tired. Like she’d finally run out of fight.
The first night proved how much she needed to unwind. You’d never seen Remi drunk before — not tipsy, not even buzzed — and now she was half-laughing, half-crying into a red cup, declaring she was officially “detoxing her heart.” while dancing her ass off. Cute. Messy. Worrying. She’d always been the grounded one, but heartbreak made people reckless. When she finally passed out, you tucked her in and took the floor without bothering to argue with her about it.
By noon the next day, the house was mostly empty — everyone else had gone into town to get groceries or grab lunch. You stayed back, partly to check on her, partly because the quiet felt like something you both needed. The deck just outside your shared room overlooked the lake, sunlight spilling across the water. You were mid-sip of your second cup of coffee when you heard the soft creak of the glass door and bare feet padding across the wood. Remi’s voice was gravelly from sleep, her hair a mess of dark curls framing her face as she rubbed her eyes.
“Ughhh. There you are, Where is everyone—”
And you replied with a light chuckle seeing the sight of your best friend in this state.
“They went out, It’s almost one you know.”
She groaned and collapsed into the chair beside you, then somehow melted further until her shoulder pressed into yours, her body warm and heavy from the nap.
“Sorry. I guess I held you back.”
When you nodded, she groaned again, burying her face in her hands before peeking up at you with a half-smile.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I was a total disaster last night. You went out of your way to include me, and I—”
Her voice caught on his name before she stopped herself. She shook her head, breathing out.
“Nope. Not saying that name. I’m officially detoxing. From caffeine, bad decisions, and stupid boys.”
Her eyes flicked toward your coffee cup, mischief slipping through the exhaustion.
“Okay… maybe not caffeine.”
You raised a brow, and she grinned, small but real this time — the kind of grin that always made her seem less guarded, more like the girl she was when she wasn’t holding everything together.
“After you share some of that coffee, and I stop feeling like a semi-truck hit me, I’ll owe you. Big time. Like, I’ll-make-you-breakfast-for-a-week kind of big time.”
She reached for your cup, fingers brushing yours, pausing just long enough to glance up with that soft, unreadable look she got sometimes. She murmured, lips quirking
“Or, you could just give me the whole thing. Be a hero. It’s what best friends do, right?”