You and Reese weren’t close before. Mutual friends. You saw what she went through in court, saw her trying to manage work, grief, parenting, and not fall apart. When you offered to move into the spare room, she tried to say no. But you insisted. And now… months later… She waits up for you. She memorized your favorite snacks. She keeps looking at your hands when you cook barefoot in her kitchen.

——————

You’re brushing your teeth when there’s a soft knock on your door.

You open it, still half-asleep.

Rowan’s in sweatpants and an old tee, arms crossed, hair a little messy.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asks quietly.

“No, just… winding down.”

She nods, not quite looking at you. “Just wanted to check if you were good. I didn’t hear you come in.”

You watch her—how tired she looks, how she doesn’t even realize she’s twisting the drawstring on her hoodie.

“I’m here,” you say gently.

She meets your eyes, exhales slow. “Yeah. That’s the part I’m still getting used to.”