I look at him, half-hysterical. He starts taking exaggerated breaths, puffing out his chest before exhaling.

“In and out. Come on.”

I try to follow along, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and my breathing slowly evens out. Tears still fall down my cheeks, but I blink past them to focus on Ace.

“Sorry,” I choke out.

“No,” Ace says, his thumbs swiping underneath my eyes again. “Don’t ever apologize to me for this.”

Ace finally lets go and sits down beside me. When he leads my head to rest on his shoulder, I’m too tired to refuse.

“You’re okay, Karina,” he says against my hair.

I nod, trying to believe that. I’m okay. My life isn’t over. If I have to pursue medicine, then I’ll pursue medicine. I’m not dying. My parents aren’t asking for something unforgivable.

I close my eyes and turn my face into Ace’s shoulder, focusing on my breathing.

His hand runs through my hair, careful and soothing. “Hey,” Ace says. “I have something for you.”

I blink my eyes open. In his free hand, he’s holding a packet of Sour Patch Kids.

A choked laugh slips past my lips. “You remembered.”

“I’d never forget anything about you,” he murmurs. “Here.”

He rips open the top and hands it to me. I sniffle gratefully and take the packet.

“Thank you,” I say. A part of me is embarrassed at losing it like this in front of Ace. The bigger part of me is glad it’s him and not some random stranger. His presence has somehow become comforting. Only Nandini and Cora feel this familiar to me.

Ace doesn’t respond, but he hums against the top of my head. We sit in silence, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable or forced. It feels as natural as anything else.

I don’t know how much time passes, but once I finish the packet of Sour Patch Kids, I sit up properly, scrubbing at my face. I can’t imagine how disastrous I look. I don’t want to know, frankly.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ace says.

I look at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “I want to. Come on.” He offers me a hand up and I take it, rubbing my nose with my sleeve.

“What about your car?”

Ace looks away, his lips pressed together. “I don’t have it right now. My dad took away my keys.”

I falter, searching his expression. “What happened?”

“Just Xander,” Ace says quietly before shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But how will you get home?” I ask. “You don’t have to walk me—”

“I want to,” he says again, squeezing my shoulder. “I’ll call my dad’s chauffeur to pick me up. It’s not a big deal, I swear.”