Gary slept badly.

That wasn’t surprising.

He drifted in and out of shallow, uncomfortable sleep, jaw throbbing, dreams fractured and unhelpful. Each time he woke, the same thought surfaced: tomorrow. Tomorrow meant dentists. Chairs. Lights. Judgement.

By morning, he felt wrung out.

He stood in the bathroom again, examining his face in the harsh daylight. The swelling was still there. Subtle, but undeniable. Proof that this wasn’t something he could joke away forever.

His phone buzzed.

A message.

Still okay for today?

Gary stared at the screen longer than necessary.

This was it. The sensible choice. The grown-up one. The one he usually avoided.

He typed back slowly.

Yeah. I’ll come by.

Almost immediately, the reply came.

Good. And Gary? Don’t take any more pills.

He winced, half amused, half exposed.

Getting ready felt strangely formal. Clean clothes. Brushed teeth—carefully, cautiously, painfully. He felt like a man preparing for an exam he hadn’t revised for.

Outside, the day was brighter than he wanted it to be. Too honest.

By the time he reached her place, his nerves were jangling. This wasn’t a date. Not really. This was… something else.

She opened the door, already composed, already professional.

“Morning,” she said.

Gary swallowed. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, haven’t I?”

She smiled. “We’ll see.”

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