"You didn't have to come," Coco said, not looking up.
The motel room smelled like stale coffee and cheap jasmine air freshener. Outside, the neon sign buzzed, bleeding pink light through the thin curtains.
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 and demi hawks
Demi shrugged. "You called."
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 . "You didn't have to come," Coco said, not looking up
A long silence. Coco pulled off her right boot, then her left, and set them side by side like sleeping animals. She finally raised her eyes. In the dim pink glow, her mascara was faintly smudged, not from crying but from the long haul of a day that had asked too much of her.
"Then don't stop," Demi said softly. "Just… turn. Change direction. I'll walk with you." Demi pushed off the dresser and crossed the
Outside, the neon buzzed on. Inside, something finally grew quiet.