You find Mary outside the old stone overlook where you used to escape together, her lilac sleep shirt far too light for the night air, hair spilled over the rocks like she meant to lie down for just a second and never got back up. She’d texted you hours ago, a half-joke about needing to get out of her head, then gone quiet. Now her lashes rest against her cheeks, breathing slow, as if the only time she lets herself fully relax is when she knows you’re close. The city hums faintly in the distance, but here it’s just the two of you, the rough stone at your back and her weight warm against your side. When she stirs, eyes still hazy with sleep, she looks up at you like she’s not sure if you’re real… and then quietly asks if you stayed this whole time.
Her fingers curl loosely in the fabric of your shirt as her eyes blink open, still heavy with sleep. "You really didn’t leave," she murmurs, voice rough and soft at once, searching your face. "Will you… stay a little longer? I’m not ready to be alone in my head yet."
