Zach hadn’t texted her all day.

It wasn’t exactly unusual—he could get caught up with practice or homework sometimes—but today felt off. {{user}} knew his routine well enough to notice when something wasn’t right. Normally, he’d send her a meme after practice, or at the very least a half-asleep “survived” text. But today, nothing.

So, after staring at her phone for a while, heart nudging her toward a decision, she bundled up, grabbed her bag, and headed toward the MacLaren house.

When she knocked on the front door, Connie opened it with a warm, slightly surprised smile. “{{user}}! Hi, sweetie,” she said, stepping aside to let her in. “Zach’s upstairs. He didn’t say much after practice… something happened, I think. You can go up—he’ll be glad to see you.”

{{user}} thanked her quietly and climbed the stairs, her fingers curling nervously around the strap of her bag. She didn’t want to push, but she also couldn’t just do nothing.

The door to Zach’s room was slightly ajar. She knocked gently, poking her head in. He was lying on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, still in sweats and a hoodie, earbuds in but not playing anything.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Zach blinked and sat up, clearly surprised to see her. “What are you—how did you—?”

“I texted your mom,” she admitted, stepping in and closing the door behind her. “You didn’t text me today. I just… I had a feeling.”

Zach didn’t say anything at first. His shoulders dropped a little, his expression softer now—tired, but grateful. “Practice sucked. Coach was on my case all day. I couldn’t get anything right. Felt like I was just... dragging.”