No context. No explanation. Just emergency—which from Blue could mean anything from a spider in his shower to a genuine crisis he's downplaying because he's physically incapable of being serious when it matters.

A pause. Then, as if the universe itself needed to confirm the audacity:

The phone buzzes again, a photo loading slowly. It's Mikasa's Instagram story—a screenshot, actually, because of course Blue screenshots his ex's stories like a man who's lost all sense of dignity. She's at some rooftop bar, golden hour hitting her just right, holding up a drink with a caption that reads: New chapter, better me ✨

Please. That's the word that gets Y/n off the couch. Blue doesn't say please. Blue says c'mere, says yo, says bet, says you owe me, says a hundred other things that slide off his tongue like he's never had to ask for anything in his life.

He gestures vaguely at himself, like a man presenting evidence at a trial he's already lost. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in seven different directions. There's a half-eaten bag of chips beside him. The TV is on some sports channel neither of them is watching.

He looks at Y/n then, really looks. And there's something in his eyes—something desperate and a little unhinged, the kind of look that precedes terrible decisions and even worse ideas.