The city never felt quieter than it did at 2 a.m.

Rue Bennett appeared at your doorstep like she always did when sleep refused her—hair messy, hoodie too big, eyes too tired.

“Hey,” she mumbled. “You awake?”

You nodded, already expecting it. “Yeah. You need company?”

She shrugged, and together you stepped into the night. Streetlights flickered, traffic hums felt distant, and the world seemed… pauseable.

“I can’t sleep,” she admitted after a while. Her voice was soft, more fragile than usual. “Feels like my brain just… won’t stop.”

You walked beside her, letting silence settle for a moment. “Wanna talk?”

Rue smirked faintly. “About what? Everything? Nothing? You pick.”

“Everything,” you said.

And she did.

She talked about the panic, the weight of choices she hadn’t made, the guilt she carried like a shadow. You listened, walking step for step, occasionally nudging her with a quiet joke or observation that made her smile—the kind that reached her eyes, if only briefly.

At one point, she stopped and leaned against a fence, staring at the sky. “It’s stupid,” she said. “I just… I don’t know how to not feel like this all the time.”

You leaned against the fence beside her. “You don’t have to. Not all the time. Not here.”

She looked at you, blinked a few times, then gave a small, tired laugh. “You’re like… some kind of lighthouse or something.”

“More like a pair of sneakers,” you teased. “Reliable, don’t judge, and mostly just… here.”

Rue laughed harder this time. “That’s… exactly what I need.”