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The moment I knocked on Gigi’s door, it swung open as if she was already waiting there, her ear practically glued to the wood. There she was, decked out in baggy flannel pajama pants covered in tiny cartoon cats, and an old band tee that had definitely seen better days.

Her hair was piled high in a messy bun, held up by what looked like a chopstick. No pastel makeup, no judgment, just Gigi, exactly who I needed right now.

Without asking what had happened or why I was standing on her porch with a duffel bag and red eyes at nine-thirty on a school night, she stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug that felt like it could keep all my shattered parts together, if only for a little while.

"You look like fucking trash," she said softly against my shoulder, her tone gentle enough not to hurt.

I let out a watery laugh that came out more like a hiccup. "I feel worse."

She squeezed me tightly once more before letting go just enough to shut the door behind us and guide me toward the stairs. The house smelled like cinnamon from a candle her aunt had lit in the living room, mingling with that familiar scent of laundry detergent that always clung to Gigi’s clothes.

We shuffled upstairs in our socks, mine still wet from the snow and she nudged me into her bedroom without even turning on the light, just relying on the soft glow from the string lights over her headboard and a little crescent moon lamp on her nightstand.

She piled every spare blanket and pillow onto the floor, creating this cozy nest that was both ridiculous and perfect at the same time. A minute later, she returned with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows and a plate of slightly stale ginger snaps she’d probably snagged from the kitchen.

We settled in among the pillows, leaning back against the bed, our knees brushing, the warmth from the mugs seeping into our hands.

For a while, we didn’t say anything. The house creaked as it settled, the clock on her dresser ticked softly, and the snow tapped quietly against the window. Gigi sipped her drink slowly, giving me the space to just be without needing to fill the silence.

I found myself staring at the marshmallows melting into my chocolate and tried to recall the last time I’d felt this safe.

Finally, I spoke, my words small and careful.

"I love two people."

She blinked at me slowly, like she was taking in a piece of trivia that was interesting enough.

"...Okay."

I looked at her, surprised. "That’s it?"

She shrugged her shoulder casually. "Pretty much."

She couldn’t be serious.

I stared harder. "You what?"

Gigi set her mug down on the carpet between us and leaned back against the bedframe, stretching her legs out in front of her. "I suspected."

"You suspected."

"Yeah." She tilted her head, her eyes studying me with that familiar perceptiveness she always had beneath all that tarot card readings. "You look at them differently. Ethan makes you soft, like the world gets quieter and warmer when he’s around. Adrien? He makes you... intense. Like you’re waiting for something to spark. It’s not subtle, Noah. Not to someone who’s known you since we were little kids eating glue in kindergarten. Also do you remember when I pulled a two lovers card when trying to see if this year would be your lucky year or not?"

I blinked, no way that actually came to pass. Maybe I should have taken all these card readings a little more seriously.

I let out a shaky laugh that cracked in the middle, almost turning into a sob. "I didn’t mean for it to happen."

"Feelings don’t ask for permission," she said simply. "They just show up and start making themselves at home, whether you want them to or not."

I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie, embarrassed by how much I was tearing up. "One of them is my fucking stepbrother."

Gigi rolled her eyes, not in a mean way, just a fondly exasperated one. "You didn’t grow up together. You met when you were both teenagers, already figuring yourselves out with your questionable music taste. It’s messy, complicated. But I don’t blame you, though..."

That pulled another laugh from me, surprising and a bit shaky. "I thought I was a terrible person."

"You’re not terrible," she said firmly. "You’re just confused. Maybe a little dramatic some times. But mostly just human."

I told her everything, from the investigation of Joanne’s death...Logan, kissing Adrien for the first time, kissing Adrien for the upteenth time in Rachel’s spare room, the break with Ethan, Logan’s mysterious death, our little squad of detectives...of Ethan finding out.

She reached over and tucked one of the blankets higher around my shoulders like she was comforting a kid who’d wandered too far from home as she listened to me rant.

"But you really need to stop pretending this can go on forever. The whole love triangle while dealing with a murder mystery? It’s not cute anymore. Just exhausting."

I managed a weak smile. "I can’t choose."

"Then don’t." Her tone was so calm it took a second to sink in. "Not right now."

I looked at her, genuinely surprised. "You don’t think I should?"

"I think you just went through a murder investigation, a funeral, Ethan’s uncle’s probably staged suicide, and a breakdown at the Snow Ball. You don’t have to have all the answers right now." She paused, then added gently, "Or next week. Or the week after. You’re allowed to sit in the mess for a bit without feeling the need to pick sides."

I exhaled slowly, feeling something in my chest loosen for the first time in what felt like forever. "That sounds... nice."

"It should." Her expression turned serious then. "About that murder investigation... you need to take a step back."

I tensed up. "Gigi—"

"I’m serious." She angled her body fully towards me, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. "Rich people are powerful and connected. The kind of people who makes problems disappear when they start getting too loud. Your lives are already complicated enough. You think someone like that won’t protect themselves if they feel threatened?"

I thought about Ethan in the parking lot, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and stubborn. About the forged suicide note. About polite warnings that felt more like threats disguised as concern. About how close we’d all come to breaking.

"I can’t just ignore it," I said quietly. "People are getting hurt."

"You can’t save everyone," she replied, her voice calm but gentle. "You’re not the police. You’re not invincible. If something happens because you couldn’t let it go..." She hesitated, then swallowed hard. "I don’t want to have to visit you in a hospital, Noah. Or worse."

That hit differently than anything else. For weeks, everyone...me, Ethan, Adrien, had been focused on the romance and betrayal, the impossible choice. No one had said out loud that chasing the truth could hurt me. Or even kill me.

Gigi wasn’t worried about who I loved; she was worried about whether I’d still be around to love anyone at all.

I felt the weight of her words settle over me like a blanket I didn’t even know I needed. "I was drowning," I admitted softly. "And I didn’t tell anyone."

She reached over and squeezed my hand, her fingers warm from her mug. "You don’t have to drown alone."

We stayed like that for a bit, hand in hand, breathing in sync, while the snow tapped softly against the window like it was trying to grab our attention. Eventually, she nudged me with her shoulder.

"Lie down before you pass out sitting up. You look like you haven’t slept since the Obama administration."

I didn’t argue. I stretched out on the blankets, staring up at the ceiling where she’d stuck glow-in-the-dark stars years ago. They still flickered softly when the lamp was off, a gentle reminder that some things can last even when everything else shifts.

Gigi curled up next to me, her head on my shoulder, one arm draped across my chest as if she was anchoring me to reality.

"You’re gonna be okay," she murmured. "Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And when you’re ready to figure out the rest, I’ll be right here with terrible advice and better snacks."

I let out a small, tired laugh. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart. And if you need backup when you finally talk to them again, just know I’ve got a mean right hook and zero impulse control."

For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had to make any choices at all. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I could just be here...in the quiet, in the warmth, in the safety of someone who loved me without needing me to be anything but who I was in this moment.

I closed my eyes, listening to Gigi’s steady breathing beside me, and for once, the weight on my chest didn’t feel all that suffocating.