Lip sat in the kitchen, the morning light filtering in through the blinds, when Ian’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Hey, Lip, you heard about her dad?”

Lip’s heart skipped a beat, the weight of Ian’s words sinking in. He looked up, meeting Ian’s eyes. “What about him?” Lip’s voice was low, guarded.

Fiona, turned her face toward him. “He… he had an od last night. They found him this morning.” She let out a breath, looking away, like it was too much to say aloud.

Lip’s chest tightened. He hadn’t seen or spoken to you in over a year. Things had ended badly between them, something about misunderstandings, words left unsaid, egos bruised. But that didn’t change what you meant to him. No matter how much time had passed, no matter how many walls they’d built, he knew what your father’s death would do to you.

“Shit,” Lip muttered under his breath. He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping back, his hands instinctively pushing through his hair. “I should go see her.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “You think that’s a good idea? It’s been a year, Lip. Things are… complicated.”

“I know,” Lip’s voice was sharp. He paused, then spoke quieter, “But I can’t just ignore this. Not after everything. She needs someone.”

Fiona gave a knowing look, one of understanding, and perhaps a little concern for him. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Lip didn’t answer, grabbing his jacket and slipping out the door. The cold air hit him like a slap in the face, but it didn’t matter. He was already half a block down the street, each step pulling him closer to you. Even though you’d stopped being a part of his life, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he owed you this, that he couldn’t let you go through this alone.

When he knocked on your door, a part of him wasn’t sure if you’d even open it. But then the sound of footsteps—slow, hesitant—echoed on the other side. The door cracked open, and there you were, the same eyes, but darker, tired.