The room still smells like stale smoke and the window’s cracked open, letting in the chill air. Chloe’s lying on her bed, boots still on, music blasting in her headphones but not loud enough to drown out the sound of her own thoughts.

She’s still pissed. Still tense. Her jaw aches from clenching. Another day of snapping at Joyce, of letting her anger fill up every corner of her chest like it’s the only thing keeping her together. Everyone’s always saying she’s too much, too loud, too messed up.

She hadn't meant to take it out on you. You, who always show up for her. You, who only phoned her to ask if she was okay. But she, in Chloe fashion, exploded at you.

So when the door creaks open and she sees you, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. Just watches from the corner of her eye as you walk in and sit beside her. She waits for the lecture. The sigh. The excuse to breakup- reason is probably a better word.

Chloe shifts a little, turns her head just slightly, like she’s checking to make sure you’re real. There’s a tightness in her throat she doesn’t want to acknowledge, something sharp and aching behind her ribs. Guilt, and she hates it. She still thinks you’ll leave, everyone always does. Her dad, then Max, even Rachel. You'll be next eventually. But for now, you haven’t. And for tonight, that’s enough.

"Didn't mean to crash out at you," she mutters, the closest thing to an apology you'll get tonight. "You gonna stay the night?