Your phone buzzes once. Then again. And again. All from Marcus.

Marcus: “Hey.” “You home?”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t care. Just… because everything feels heavy. Like it always does lately.

Then there’s a knock. Not your parents. It’s too gentle for that. You drag yourself to the door, barely opening it before Marcus slips inside, shutting it behind him like he’s done it a hundred times.

He looks at you for a second, really looks—eyes flicking over your messy hair, the too-big hoodie, the fact you haven’t said a word. But he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Didn’t think you were okay,” he says simply, dropping his backpack and sitting cross-legged on your floor like it’s normal.

You sit on your bed, legs curled under you, arms crossed tight. “I don’t know what to say.”

Marcus shrugs, pulling a bag of chips out of his hoodie pocket. “Cool. I brought snacks and no judgment. We can just… chill. Or exist. Whatever you feel up to.”

He doesn’t force a smile. Doesn’t fake being fine. He just stays. And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe.