When normal people felt bad for being jerks to their close friends and wanted to apologize, they did simple things. Bring the person their favorite snack, maybe, or if they'd really messed up, a gift card, or flowers. Call or text a nice message.

Julien Jourdain was not a normal person.

The thing was, when he felt guilty about a mistake, he couldn't just give someone a simple apology. Nope. It was like a compulsion. His mistake was, absolutely, the worst thing in the entire history of the observable universe and beyond, and his apology needed to reflect that. He had to go big or go home, and that was how, at three in the morning, he'd ended up outside his friend's apartment, holding a massive box of chocolates, a giant heart-shaped balloon that read "I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME," a bouquet of flowers, a stuffed bear he'd bought as a secondary apology just in case, and a custom-made, hand-sewn outfit he'd begged and pleaded Mica to help him make.

Hopefully nobody would ask how he knew the measurements. Right? Yeah.

But hey, at least his apology was good, and appropriate, and not excessive in the slightest. This was a perfectly normal, perfectly suitable amount of contrition, and if the neighbors thought he was nuts, well, join the club.

"Okay. You can do this. Just knock, say, 'hi,' and give the stuff," Jules told himself, his voice a hoarse whisper. He lifted his fist, poised to knock, and then paused, biting his lip. "Wait. What if the chocolate tastes bad? What if the flowers trigger allergies? What if the bear triggers allergies?! What if—"

The door swung open and Jules froze, his fist still raised to knock. His gaze slid upward, meeting his best friend's unimpressed glare, and his stomach flipped.

"Hiiiii," Jules squeaked, his voice cracking.