20 Zara
Cass’ Plan
By Friday, it’s almost scary how much better I feel.
Not “fixed.” Not sunshine and rainbows and cured by the power of love or whatever cheesy TikTok edit people would make out of us. But compared to two nights ago—the sobbing and the way it felt like my insides were rotting—yeah. Better.
Mostly because of him.
Cass has made good on everything he said. He still asks if I’m okay, but now it’s How are you actually? with his head tipped and his eyes narrowed like he’s looking for something hidden.
The first time he did it, I shrugged and said, “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He didn’t even blink before replying, “Bullshit,” as he nudged my knee with his.
Then he just waited quietly until I sighed and admitted that, no, I wasn’t fine, my brain was being an asshole and everything felt kind of heavy.
And instead of flinching or looking disappointed, he nodded and said, “Thank you. That’s a real answer,” before he pulled me into his side and put a granola bar in my hand.
Apparently my boyfriend now checks if I’ve eaten before he lets me spiral.
Ten out of ten for this dreamboat.
He’s good in the little ways, too. He remembers to ask if I took my meds.
He hands me a water bottle before I even realize I’m thirsty.
When I go quiet and my jokes dry up, he doesn’t poke at it like it’s weird; he just leans into me, his warm thigh against mine, letting the silence be a place instead of a problem.
So yeah. It’s been a month of bliss, then a crash, and now this weird in-between.
I’m still tired. I still cry more than I want to.
My brain still tells me that I’m too much, too loud, too sad.
But I also have Cass squeezing my hand and calling my brain a liar, and that helps. More than I know how to say.
Cass <3:
Game night?
My phone buzzes around six, lighting up with his contact photo—him mid eye-roll in a blurry screenshot I took during character creation in Baldur’s Gate.
Cass <3:
Pizza & controller therapy? Or are you gonna break my heart and say no?
I stare at the message for a moment with my thumb hovering over the screen. Old me—a-month-ago me—would’ve said yes immediately and then forced herself through it, even if I barely had the energy to stand. Now, his voice from two nights ago rings in my head:
Don’t pretend with me, Zae. That’s the only thing that’ll make me think you don’t love me.
I exhale, tapping back.
Zara:
I want to. Disclaimer though. My energy bar is at a yellow/orange at best. Not red but not green either
His reply is almost instant.
Cass <3:
Thank u for the traffic light update
Cass <3:
Follow up Q: Yellow “can do things just slower” or yellow “should probably cocoon and watch Howl”?
My chest squeezes at the way he checks.
Zara:
Somewhere between I can do a thing but not where I gotta socialize with strangers or move my body a lot
Zara:
Brain says no cardio
Cass <3:
Copy that. No cardio. No randos
Cass <3:
Do you trust me?
My stomach does a stupid flip, realizing just how much I actually do trust him.
Zara:
Rude of you to assume I don’t. Ofc I do
Cass <3:
You feel okay enough for something new?
Cass <3:
Physically light. Emotionally medium?
I chew the inside of my cheek, glancing at the pile of unfinished homework on my desk. My brain groans at the idea of leaving the room, but the thought of seeing him warms me from the inside out.
Zara:
As long as “new” doesn’t mean hike or CrossFit or like public karaoke
Cass <3:
You have my word. No hiking. No Celine Dion in front of strangers
Cass <3:
Be ready in 30? Jeans, totoro hoodie, and comfy shoes.
Zara:
You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going are you?
Cass <3:
Nope 3:)
Zara:
You’re lucky you’re pretty
Cass <3:
I know
I snort and toss my phone on the bed, dragging myself up.
Yellow/orange energy it is.
I keep it simple—black jeans, my Nirvana tee, and my Mario oversized zip-up hoodie because Totoro was dirty. I throw my hair into a loose half-up situation so it doesn’t get in my face and stick to my lip balm.
Good enough.
The knock on my door is three soft raps, then one louder one, because Cass must be excited today.
“Come in!” I call.
The door opens and he steps in, smelling like his usual mix of soap and something smoky that I have absolutely stolen hoodies for.
“Hey.” His mouth kicks up at one corner as he shuts the door with his heel.
He’s in ripped black jeans, a faded Deftones tee that’s peeking out just above the collar of his black hoodie.
Thank God.
Stacey-core never again.
He has a grocery bag in his hand full of snacks and candy.
I arch a brow, trying to peek inside it. “Is this the surprise? Because if you brought me snacks to eat in my room, I’m going to say yes, this fully counts as romance.”
He huffs out a laugh, shifting the box onto my desk. “This is the pre-surprise fuel,” he corrects, crossing the room to kiss my forehead. His eyes scan my face as he leans back, his thumb brushing my jaw. “How are you actually?”
I roll my eyes for show. “We’re really doing this every time?”
“Yup.” His voice is light, but his focus is dead-on me.
I blow out a breath, feeling my shoulders sag a little. “I’m better than Wednesday,” I admit, picking at the edge of my hoodie pocket. “Still kinda heavy in here.” I tap my temple.
He nods slowly, rubbing his thumb over my chin as if he’s grounding himself on the contact. “Thank you. That’s a real answer. Do you feel up to getting in a car for an hour if you get to sit and do nothing while I drive?”
I snort. “So, my normal passenger princess duties?”
“Exactly.” He smiles for real now, that soft one that always wrecks me. “We’re going to get our pizza and then head to my house. Mom’s at my aunt’s tonight for a sister sleepover. So it’ll just be us.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face. “I love that for Mama Lori.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course. Are you ready?”
“Aren’t we eating?” I glance at the grocery bag with an arched brow.
He answers, lifting the grocery bag. “I bought your weird snacks for us to eat in the car so my mom doesn’t judge us later when she sees the wrappers in the trash.”
Warmth swells in my chest. “You thought of future judgment. I’m so proud.”
“Get in the car, Zae.” He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Before I change my mind and eat this whole thing by myself.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasp, grabbing my backpack with my free hand and slinging it over my shoulder. “You’d be single by midnight.”
“Oh no,” he deadpans as we step into the hallway. “My one fear.”
I elbow him gently, but my heart is buzzing as we head downstairs.
Just his presence helps. The heaviness in my chest doesn’t vanish, but it eases, making space for other things.
The sky is starting to bruise into deeper blues as we walk across the parking lot toward his car.
The air has that early-fall bite that makes my hoodie feel perfect.
He opens my door first because he’s secretly a gentleman and waits until I’m settled before handing me the bag of treats, closing the door and jogging around to his side. Once we’re on the road, he plugs his phone into the aux and scrolls through playlists one-handed.
“What’s the vibe?” he asks, glancing over long enough to catch my eye.
“Soft,” I say, curling my legs up as far as the seatbelt will let me. “Give me emotional millennial but not enough to make me sob.”
“Wow. Specific.” He scrolls again. “So no screaming, got it.”
“I mean, a little screaming is fine,” I argue. “As a treat.”
He snorts, then taps a playlist. The opening piano of Saturn by Sleeping At Last spills through the car, soft and starry, the kind of song that makes you want to stare out the window and think about everything you’ve ever felt. My throat gets tight in that good, achy way when the melody picks up.
“Okay,” I murmur, turning my face toward the glass as the music fills the air. “Yeah. This works.”
We drive in an easy quiet as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel almost nervously.
I wonder what he has planned. I lean my head against the window, watching highways and trees and the slow slide of the sky as it deepens, feeling the tension bleed out of my shoulders with every mile we put between us and campus.
Every now and then he squeezes my knee or glances over to check on me, and I swear my heart expands another inch each time.
He pulls through the drive through of Pizza Palace, picking up our usual without much effort.
I appreciate that he uses the drive through so I’m not left alone but also don’t have to get down.
By the time we pull into his neighborhood, the music’s changed to something instrumental and gentle from a Studio Ghibli playlist—piano notes that float and linger. He turns down the volume as he pulls into his driveway, headlights flashing over the white brick I helped paint one summer.
“Okay,” he says, throwing the car into park. “Before you see this and cry, just know I Googled none of it. This is all original Cass content.”
My brows knit together as a stupid smirk tugs at my lips. “You say that like I should be nervous.”
“You should always be a little nervous around me,” he deadpans, then softens, turning further in his seat to better look at me. “You good to go in?”
I study the house—the warm porch light on, the navy blue door Cass scratched with his skateboard once, the front step where I used to sit while waiting for him in high school. It’s as much my home as it is his.
“I’m good,” I say, and this time I mean it.
The inside of the house smells like something vaguely floral that I’ve always associated with Mama Lori. The entryway is dim, just the lamp on by the couch.
“Mom left a note,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen counter where a yellow sticky note is stuck to a bag of store-bought cookies. “It says, and I quote, ’No sex in my living room.’”
I bark out a laugh. “She knows us so well.”