Cameron sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, her stomach tight with the pressure of everything she hadn't said yet. The air was still, the kind of stillness that followed a storm—fragile, heavy, full of unspoken what-ifs.
"Jas," she said quietly, her voice wobbling despite her effort to keep it steady. "You need to do this."
Jasmine sat across from her, back pressed against the headboard, legs pulled up to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her shins like she was bracing herself for impact. Her eyes didn't meet Cameron's. Instead, they lingered on the narrow gap between the curtains, where the city lights shimmered like a promise just out of reach.
"I don't know if it'll even make a difference," she said after a beat, her voice small, frayed at the edges.
Cameron's heart clenched. "You don't know that. And isn't that reason enough to try? What if it does help? What if—"
"And what if it doesn't?" Jasmine's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut like glass. "What if I do all of this—open up, dig through the mess, talk to a stranger—and I still feel the same?"
The exhaustion in her voice was unmistakable. Not the kind that sleep could fix, but the kind that lived in her bones. Cameron had spent months—maybe years—trying to break through the maze Jasmine had built around herself, and now that she was finally starting to find the exits, she was terrified Jasmine might slam the doors shut again.
"Then at least you'll know you tried," Cameron said softly. "Then at least you won't have to carry it alone anymore."
Jasmine said nothing. Her hands gripped her knees tighter, the skin around her knuckles going pale. Her eyes flicked to Cameron for half a second, then away again.
The silence between them stretched like a tightrope. Cameron held her breath. She didn't dare push harder, but she could feel the moment slipping, like water through her fingers. She could almost see it—Jasmine retreating, folding inward, slipping back behind the armor she wore so naturally.
Please, don't run, Cameron thought. Please don't shut me out again.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Jasmine let out a long, shaky breath. "Okay," she murmured, barely audible. "After the trip. I'll try."
Cameron's breath hitched. "Really?" Her hands trembled as she reached across the space between them, gently taking Jasmine's hand in hers and squeezing it tight. "You mean it?"
Jasmine nodded, though the movement was small and hesitant, like the word itself might dissolve if she said it too loudly. "Yeah. I do."
Cameron let out a laugh, soft and raw with relief. Her eyes stung, and she didn't bother wiping the tears away. "Jas, oh my God. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means. I swear, you won't regret it. I'll be there every step of the way, okay? Whatever you need."
Jasmine offered a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was something else there—something quieter, harder to name. Not doubt, exactly. Not fear either. It was the look of someone stepping onto thin ice, knowing it might not hold.
Cameron saw it. Felt it.
But she didn't let go.
The truth was, she had that same feeling buried in her chest. That this wasn't the final act of healing, but the beginning of something long and painful. That progress wouldn't look like clarity, but like confusion, mess, backslides. That maybe Jasmine would try, and it still wouldn't be enough.
But she said yes.
And that was more than Cameron had dared to hope for.
She pulled Jasmine into a hug, slow and careful, like drawing a blanket around both of them. Jasmine hesitated for just a breath, then melted into her, pressing her face into the crook of Cameron's neck. Her skin was warm. Her breathing uneven.
"Thank you for doing this for me," Cameron whispered into her hair.
Jasmine let out a quiet laugh—thin, tired, but real. "I think I'm supposed to be doing this for me."
Cameron smiled against her shoulder. "Yeah. But still. Thank you."
Jasmine didn't argue this time.
They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together on the edge of the bed as the soft hum of the city leaked in through the windows. The sounds of life went on outside—cars, laughter, distant sirens—but in their room, there was stillness. A moment suspended.
Cameron closed her eyes, holding Jasmine like she could somehow press all the broken pieces together, like her arms might be strong enough to keep everything from falling apart. She knew they weren't. But she held tighter anyway.
For now, Jasmine had agreed.
For now, there was a thread of hope between them, stretched thin but intact.
And Cameron would hold onto it with everything she had.