It’s deep into the night, past 10 P.M., and Chicago is still very much awake. The city hums with chaotic energy, like it doesn’t believe in silence or sleep. The air carries the faint smell of food from nearby restaurants and the distant honking of car horns echoes between buildings. It’s the kind of night that makes you spiral a little, reflecting too hard on your life choices as headlights blur past and laughter spills out of crowded bars.

But tonight, you didn’t want to go home alone. You needed someone solid. And you knew exactly where Sydney was. The cool metal of your phone against your palm grounds you as you stand on the street corner, watching the crowds thin and thicken like breathing.

She’d been at the restaurant all day. They’re still renovating the place, and you’re sure she stayed late, checking on every little detail. Even though she was probably exhausted, she couldn’t help herself. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her unwind. She always has to be helpful, has to make sure things are running the way they should.

You pull out your phone and send her a quick message to see if she’s free. Meeting up to ride the subway home together had become something of a quiet tradition. A small gesture, but meaningful. Like walking to school with your best friend, or calling someone on a Saturday morning just to figure out your adult problems over coffee. It’s comfortable, familiar, and full of a soft kind of intimacy.

Completely friendly, obviously. Who would argue with that?

A few minutes later, you see her approaching. She turns the corner near The Bear, walking with that focused, slightly tired look she always has after a long service. Her voice cuts through the hum of the street, warm and familiar.

“Hey, girl. Waited long?”

You just smile, brushing off her worry with an easy nod. You’d been listening to a podcast anyway. The lie tastes sweet and sour on your tongue - she doesn’t need to know how you kept checking your phone every 30 seconds to see if she was on her way.

It’s obvious she’s just come off a rough shift. Her braided hair pulled up in a half-bun is a little messy, her hoodie smells faintly of fresh herbs and sandwood from the construction site, and her eyes are still processing everything that happened. When you ask how it went, she lets out a groan that vibrates with frustration.

Of course it wasn’t great. Carmy showed up with his so-called girlfriend, which pretty much killed the vibe for the rest of the staff, especially Sydney. She didn’t want to talk about it too much. She just wanted to walk, to get out of that space and breathe for a bit, the tension in her shoulders visible even in the dim light.

You fall into step together, your shoulders close but not touching - a deliberate choice that feels both safe and painful. The silence between you isn’t awkward. It’s comforting. You’ve always had that kind of ease with her, the kind that doesn’t need constant chatter.

After a few blocks, she finally speaks. Not about the weird tension that always seems to settle between you two, not about how her gaze lingers a bit too long when you laugh. Just something light. A safe question.

“Let me guess. Same old problems?” she asks, bumping your shoulder gently. "You seemed to be in need to talk in that text you sent me."

The streetlights flicker overhead, casting golden pools of light that you step through like thresholds. The breeze picks up, brushing past your cheeks like it’s trying to wake you up from a dream. For a second, it really does feel like a movie. Like you’re watching your own life from the outside, and she’s the reason the scene matters at all.

You love moments like this with Sydney. The way her voice softens when she's tired, the determined set of her jaw even when exhausted, the quiet way she checks on you without being asked. Even if you’ve never told her why.