The club lights were dim and chaotic — strobes slicing the haze of cigarette smoke and spilled drinks. The music pounded from every wall. Laughter, shouting, and clinking glasses all blurred together.
Sam pushed the door open, out of breath. His eyes scanned the crowd — past swaying dancers, through the bar haze — until he spotted him.
Zero.
Slumped over at the bar counter, head resting on his folded arms. A few empty shot glasses stood around him like broken soldiers. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-shut, blinking slowly as if the world kept moving without him.
Jacob was behind the counter, looking tense.
Sam rushed forward. "Zero!"
Zero lifted his head slowly, blinking at the voice. "Sa—... Sam...?" he slurred, then broke into a slow smile. "Awhh... there you are... see, told you... you'd come…"
Sam grabbed his shoulders. "What the hell is going on? Jacob, what happened?"
Jacob wiped his hands on a towel. "He came in like a storm, ordered the hardest stuff I had, started talking all kinds of heavy things. I tried to stop him after the third shot but—"
"He kept going," Sam muttered, his eyes on Zero.
Zero chuckled softly. "I'm not drunk," he said unconvincingly. "I just can't… sit straight anymore."
Zero suddenly leaned forward, resting his forehead against Sam's shoulder. "I missed you."
Sam stiffened.
Zero's breath was warm. Honest. Broken.
"I just wanted one night where I didn't feel like watching you walk away," he mumbled.
"What?"
Zero didn't repeat himself. Instead, he laughed — a dry, shaky sound. "Nothing. Just the shots talking."
Sam slowly placed a hand on the back of Zero's head. "You're such a mess."
"Yeah," Zero whispered. "But I'm your mess… right?"
Sam didn't answer.
He pulled Zero's arm over his shoulder and stood up, steadying him.
"We're going home," he said firmly.
Zero, now half-asleep, mumbled, "Take me somewhere where it doesn't hurt…"
Sam looked at Jacob, who just nodded. "I'll close up. Thanks for coming fast."
Outside, the air was cooler. The night quieter.
Sam half-carried, half-walked Zero toward the curb.
And in that silence, Zero muttered again — barely audible:
"Don't go."
Sam looked at him, heart squeezing, but said nothing.
He simply tightened his grip on Zero's hand and kept walking.
Zero stopped walking all of a sudden.
Sam looked back, confused. "What now?"
Zero tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Carry me on your back."
"What?" Sam blinked. "You have perfectly working legs. Use them."
But Zero wasn't one to give up so easily. He pulled his hand away dramatically and plopped down on the sidewalk with a loud sigh.
"Fine. Then I'll just sleep here. Right here. Because I'm not walking."
Sam stared at him, utterly baffled. What the hell is wrong with him tonight?
Zero leaned back slightly, still grinning. "Sam… look! So many stars playing tag up there…"
He pointed toward a patch of sky that was just pitch black. Sam followed his finger, saw nothing but night, and sighed deeply.
"Seriously, Zero. You're so drunk. If you can't handle alcohol, why did you even drink that much? Especially when it's your first time?"
Zero didn't respond, just kept gazing dreamily into the dark.
Sam rubbed his forehead. "Alright, fine. You win."
Zero immediately perked up like a child, scrambling upright and climbing onto Sam's back with the kind of enthusiasm only a drunk idiot could have.
Sam hoisted him up with a grunt. "God, you're heavy."
They started walking slowly toward the house.
After a moment, Sam asked, "Hey, where are your house keys?"
Zero mumbled a tune instead of answering, singing under his breath.
"Zero?"
"I dunno…" he slurred. "Put 'em somewhere… I forgot…"
Sam wanted to scream.
"Great," he muttered. "That's just great."
He looked over his shoulder. But Zero was quiet now. His breathing had slowed.
Asleep.
Or maybe just lost somewhere between alcohol and heartbreak.
Sam tightened his grip and kept walking, his mind louder than the silence of the road around them.
After a while..
The key clicked in the lock. Sam pushed the door open with one hand, still holding Zero up with the other. The apartment was dimly lit, quiet — a warm contrast to the chaos they had just left behind.
Zero stumbled slightly. "Shhh…" he whispered to no one, grinning. "We're breaking in…"
"I live here, idiot," Sam muttered, steering him toward the couch.
Zero collapsed into it, groaning, one arm flopping over the side dramatically. "Ugh… I hate the ceiling."
Sam kicked off his shoes and exhaled — chest tight, throat dry. He walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and came back.
"Drink," he said.
Zero made a face. "You sound like my therapist."
"I am your therapist tonight."
Zero took the glass and stared at it like it held secrets."Why'd you come?" he asked softly.
Sam looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"
Zero didn't meet his eyes. He swirled the water, watching it ripple.
"You didn't have to. I wasn't dying. Wasn't bleeding. Just... drunk and saying dumb things."
Sam sighed and sat down beside him on the couch. "You were alone, Zero. That's enough."
Zero scoffed quietly. "I'm always alone."
There was a pause — deep and uncomfortable.
Then Sam asked, gentler this time, "What's really going on with you?"
Zero leaned back, letting his head rest on the edge of the couch, staring up again.
"I think..." he said slowly, "I think I tried to outrun something. But instead, I ran straight into it."
Sam turned to face him. "What is it?"
Zero closed his eyes. "Something I shouldn't feel. Something that's been eating me from the inside out."
Sam's brows furrowed, his voice quiet. "Zero…"
"I don't want to talk about it," Zero whispered. "Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real. And if it's real, then I have something to lose."
Sam stared at him for a long time.
Then he reached out and gently took the now-forgotten glass from Zero's hand and set it on the table.
"You're not alone," he said quietly.
Zero opened his eyes.
"Even if you don't tell me anything," Sam continued, "you're still not alone."
There was silence between them — not heavy, but soft.
Zero turned his head toward Sam, eyes tired and unsure. "Can I crash here tonight?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. Take the bed. I'll stay out here."
Zero shook his head. "No… stay. Just for a while. Till I fall asleep."
Sam hesitated.
Then finally, he leaned back beside him, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing.
And for a long time, neither of them moved.
Outside, the city was still loud.
But inside Sam's apartment, everything had gone still — as if time itself had paused, waiting quietly in the breath between truth and silence.
________________________________________________
When Sim opened her eyes, the sky outside was already dark.She had no idea how long she'd been asleep, but her face still carried the faint trails of dried tears.
She sat up slowly.
The bed beside her was empty — Maera wasn't there.Instead, a suitcase sat in front of her.
She blinked, confused, then crawled toward it.It was hers.Her clothes. Her things. Packed.
Before she could process it fully, she heard footsteps behind her.Maera stood in the doorway, her voice low, broken.
"I'm sorry, Sim," she whispered. "I know what I did was wrong. If you can… please forgive me. This is your stuff — you're free to go. And if you want, I'll leave too—"
SLAP.
The sound echoed through the room.
Maera stumbled back, stunned.
Sim's hand trembled at her side, but her eyes blazed with fury and grief.
It was the first time Sim had ever raised a hand to her.
Maera looked at her in disbelief, mouth parted in shock.Sim's expression crumbled as fresh tears rushed forward.
"You idiot," she sobbed. "How could you? How could you even think of doing something like this?!"
Sim rushed forward, pounding her fists weakly against Maera's chest.
"I'll kill you, Maera, I swear — how dare you?!"
She kept hitting, crying harder.Maera just stood there, motionless, eyes wide.
"I love you, Mae!" Sim cried. "I'm sorry — I'm so sorry — but you can't react like this. You can't just pack my things. You can't leave me like this... please don't!"
Maera's heart clenched at the sight of her — shaking, broken, crying into her chest.
A tear slipped from Maera's eye too.
She pulled Sim into a tight hug, arms wrapped around her trembling frame.Sim clung to her, sobbing into her shoulder.
Maera buried her face into Sim's hair. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for hurting you. I didn't know what else to do."
Sim sniffled but stayed quiet, breathing hard.
Maera slowly pulled back and gently kissed Sim's forehead.
"Promise me," Sim whispered, grabbing her hand. "Promise me you'll never talk about leaving again."
Maera nodded and leaned her forehead against Sim's.
"I promise. I'll never leave you again."
Sim smiled, tears still clinging to her lashes.
Maera smiled too, wiping one of them away with her thumb.
"We're going back in two days," Maera said softly.
"Then let's go out tonight," Sim replied, her voice still thick with emotion. "Dinner. Just the two of us."
Maera nodded. "Okay."
Later that evening, they walked together — side by side — under the cold winter sky. Sim, now fresh and calm, held Maera's hand tightly.
Suddenly, Sim asked, "Mae… did you tell Sara?"
Maera gave a faint smirk. "I'm your savior, Sim. Of course I did. Everyone already knows we're leaving."
Sim smiled at her and gently squeezed her hand.
They walked on through the quiet street as tiny snowflakes began to fall around them, soft and slow.In the distance, Love — watching from some invisible corner of the universe — chuckled softly, then returned to her work.