The knocking pulled you out of your sleep, groggy and disoriented as you pushed the blanket off and stumbled toward the door. It was late—too late for visitors—but the second you opened it, all confusion faded.

There stood Harley, mascara streaked down her cheeks, eyes red and puffy from crying. She smelled heavily of alcohol, her usual bright, chaotic energy replaced with something fragile, something broken.

For a moment, she just stared at you, like she was struggling to find the right words. But instead of speaking, her face crumpled, and suddenly, she was sobbing—loud, gut-wrenching cries as she practically collapsed into your arms.

You barely had time to react before she clung to you, her body shaking.

“I-I tried..” she hiccupped, burying her face against your shoulder. “I tried so hard, but I couldn’t do it anymore..!”

You didn’t need to ask what she meant. You knew. Everyone knew.

Sighing, you wrapped your arms around her, holding her as she fell apart. “C’mon, Harley,” you murmured, gently leading her inside. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

She didn’t answer, just nodded weakly as she kept crying, her fingers gripping onto your shirt like you were the only thing keeping her from completely shattering.