She put her hand on my head, running her fingers though my hair like a mother would. Not my mother, but someone's. "It's not your fault. Nothing is," she said, her voice lowering to a slow, smooth cadence. My eyes started to feel hot, and I stuck my sleeve against my face and squinted. "I'm sorry," I said. She shushed me and leaned into me more, pulling her legs up from the floor and onto the couch. "There's nothing for you to be sorry for. You didn't do this, you didn't do anything," she said. "Do you want a tissue?" I nodded, and she grabbed the box from the side table. She had been sick the previous week and needed it. I only knew because she was out of classes for one day, which was unlike her. I always likened her a cat, unwilling to show any signs of illness unless it was terminal. "Eliza," I said, replacing my hoodie sleeve with the tissue. "Thanks. For, uh, being there and everything." "Why wouldn't I? If I wasn't, we wouldn't even be friends," she said with a slight laugh.

"I just feel like... Only one person is going to come out of this. And I don't want it to be me, you know?" "I can't say I relate. I feel like both of us are going to come out of this fine. Maybe this isn't the worst it'll be, but we have each other. That's enough, right?" I nodded, though it was a nod without conviction. "I want that to happen, but... I don't see it. And I'd rather not be here if that meant you being fine," I said, switching parts of the tissue. "Don't talk like that! There is no way I'd let you do some heroic save or something. Don't be silly. This isn't my story. If it's anyone's in specific, it's yours." "You're just saying that," I said with a chuckle at the absurdity of it all. "And anyways, this is probably the dumbest thing I've ever done." I sat up on the couch and leaned forward. "Isn't the big strong man supposed to protect the emotional girl? That's how romance novels work." "This isn't a romance novel. Do you think anyone dies in most romance novels?"

I shook my head, agreeing with her in principle. She leaned back into the couch and put the tissue box in my lap. "I'm kind of hungry," I said, getting up to hunt in her pantry. "I've got some leftover Chinese food, and a couple chicken strips," she said. "This is probably the most tonal whiplash I've ever seen a person have." I was convinced she tacked that on there just to try and annoy me. "Cold Chinese it is then," I said, coming back with a take-out box and a fork. "Didn't think you were the Chinese type." "And I didn't think you were the heroic sacrifice type. Learn something new every day." I would have quipped back, but I was too busy eating the leftovers. I asked with my eyes if she was okay with this, but I don't think she knew what I meant. "You're kind of dumb, but I love you," she said. I just kept eating my leftovers. Cold Chinese isn't half bad.