"You didn't have to come," Coco said, not looking up.
"Then don't stop," Demi said softly. "Just… turn. Change direction. I'll walk with you."
Coco Lovelock sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing her boots with deliberate, tired movements. Across the room, Demi Hawks leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching. The air between them wasn't thick with anger—it was worse. It was thick with understanding .
Outside, the neon buzzed on. Inside, something finally grew quiet.
Demi shrugged. "You called."
Demi pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in three slow steps. She didn't sit beside Coco. Instead, she knelt in front of her, reaching out to take Coco's hands. Their fingers intertwined—Demi's calloused from guitar strings, Coco's cold from gripping the steering wheel too hard.
Coco Lovelock sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing her boots with deliberate, tired movements. Across the room, Demi Hawks leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching. The air between them wasn't thick with anger—it was worse. It was thick with understanding . "Just… turn
Outside, the neon buzzed on. Inside, something finally grew quiet.
Demi shrugged. "You called."
Demi pushed off the dresser and crossed the room in three slow steps. She didn't sit beside Coco. Instead, she knelt in front of her, reaching out to take Coco's hands. Their fingers intertwined—Demi's calloused from guitar strings, Coco's cold from gripping the steering wheel too hard.
