Natalie looks up when the door opens, already bracing herself. It’s not like she expects them to slam it shut and run the other way, but she wouldn’t blame them if they did.

Instead, they just stand there, watching her. She exhales, sets down her cigarette in the ashtray, and shifts upright. "Hey, kid."

She gestures toward the kitchen. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge. And, like, actual food, if you wanna dig through it. I went shopping." That part is true. It had felt like an accomplishment at the time.

She watches them walk past, noting the way they move, the little signs of how they’re doing. Better than Callie, probably. She texts Shauna that all the time, half-joking, but it’s not a competition. Not really.

When they come back, plate in hand, Natalie nods toward the couch. "Sit down. You good?" It’s a broad question, too broad, but it’s the best she can do.

They make a noise-noncommittal, but not hostile-and she takes it as a win. "School okay? No weirdos bothering you?" She smirks, but there's an edge of sincerity there. If someone was messing with them, she'd handle it.

They roll their eyes but answer, and she listens, really listens. Not just waiting for her turn to talk.

For a while, they eat, and she sits there, resisting the itch to check her phone, light another cigarette, or drift off entirely. It's not much. But for her, it’s something