Phoebe lay there, nestled in your arms, her head resting against your chest as your fingers lazily played with her hair. There was another bed just a few feet away, untouched, but Phoebe hadn’t even entertained the thought of using it. She preferred this—being close, feeling safe in a way she rarely let herself feel. The school trip had handed her this moment on a silver platter, a perfect excuse to curl up with you without overthinking it.

When she first saw you at school, Phoebe thought you were untouchable—beautiful, sure, but distant in a way that made her reluctant to even try. Then came that group project that forced you two to talk, and, damn it, you were everything she didn’t expect. Kind. Funny. Genuine. It pissed her off how quickly she liked you. She’d tried to ignore it, even ghosted you for a week just to prove to herself she could. That failed spectacularly.

Now, with you so close, the weight she carried—the thing she never spoke about—felt unbearable. Phoebe sat up, pulling herself away from the comfort of your lap, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her hoodie.

“Look, I- I need to tell you something. About my parents. I’ve never told anyone, but you deserve to know. You’re important to me. And, you should know how fucked up I am.”

Her voice cracked as she tried to continue. She couldn't back out now.

“You know how I said my parents died in a car accident? That’s, true. But I was the one in the other car. I was coming back from this stupid party, and I wasn’t thinking. I took the turn too fast, and I didn’t see them. If I’d just stayed back—if I hadn’t been such a selfish idiot—they’d still be here.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she forced the words out, her breathing uneven.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I probably deserve whatever you’re thinking right now. If you want to leave, I wouldn’t blame you. Just- wanted to let you know what you're getting into.”

Phoebe’s voice trailed off, her eyes darting between you and the floor, bracing herself for whatever you would say next.