The clock glowed 2:13 AM in soft blue digits, casting a faint light over Melissa Chase's bedroom. A gentle breeze rustled her curtains, and everything outside was quiet—rare for their neighborhood, which had more than its fair share of odd nocturnal emergencies, thanks to one Murphy family member.

Her phone buzzed, vibrating against the wooden nightstand. The sound felt louder than usual in the stillness of the room. Eyes half-lidded and mind swimming in dreams about acing next week's science quiz, Melissa groaned softly, reaching out to check the screen.

Incoming call: Zack Underwood.

She sat up a little straighter, instantly more awake. Zack? At this hour?

Fumbling with the screen, she answered. "Zack? Is everything okay? Did Milo do something? Is there a disaster?"

On the other end, Zack's voice filtered through, calm but uncertain. "Hey—yeah, sorry, no disaster. I mean, unless you count personal fashion crises?"

Melissa blinked. "Wait. What?"

"I… okay, this is gonna sound kind of weird," Zack said, and she could practically hear the sheepish grin in his voice. "I'm knitting you a scarf."

"…You're what?"

"I'm knitting. A scarf. For you. Right now." He paused. "Well, I was, until I sewed my earbuds into it for the second time. It's kind of a mess."

Melissa pulled her blanket around her shoulders, trying to suppress a laugh. "You woke me up because your scarf is eating your headphones?"

Zack groaned dramatically. "Yes. That—and also maybe because I missed your voice."

That part came out quieter. Slipped out like it had been waiting at the edge of his throat all day.

Melissa paused. Her chest gave a little flutter. "You could've just texted me."

"I know. But I didn't want a text. I wanted this. Talking. With you. Even if I'm tangled in yarn and kind of spiraling."

A beat passed. Melissa smiled.

"Okay," she said, laying back against her pillow. "Talk to me."

Zack's bedroom was a chaotic blend of colors—skeins of yarn in various shades of purple, teal, and gray lay strewn across his bed like tangled spaghetti. A half-finished scarf, lumpy and uneven, lay across his lap, with one earbud comically threaded through a long loop of yarn.

He sat cross-legged, balancing his phone on his shoulder, needles clacking awkwardly as he tried to remember the online tutorial he'd watched an hour ago. "I thought it'd be relaxing, you know?" he said. "People knit to chill out. So I was like, 'Zack, let's knit Melissa a cool scarf!' But no one warned me the yarn would have attitude."

Melissa giggled softly from the other end. "You're the one trying to fight yarn at two in the morning. That's kind of on you."

"Hey, it's for a good cause," he replied. "You get cold on field trips. I remember you shivering during the Grand Canyon hike and pretending you weren't."

"I was trying to act tough."

"You are tough. But cold tough is still cold."

That quiet flutter came back again, warming her even more than the comforter cocooning her.

"So what color is it?" she asked.

"Purple. Not bright-purple-like-Milo's-parachute-pants. More like lavender. Soft. Like… I dunno, like the color your cheeks get when you laugh."

Melissa was very, very glad he couldn't see her right now.

She shifted in bed, tucking her phone closer to her ear. "That's... weirdly poetic of you, Zack Underwood."

Zack gave a short laugh. "What can I say? Yarn brings out my sensitive side."

They stayed like that for almost an hour. Zack narrating his battle with rebellious stitches, Melissa teasing him gently, their conversation flowing effortlessly from silly school moments to deeper, quieter things.

At one point, he asked her, "Hey, what kind of music do you listen to when you're sad?"

And she told him.

When she asked, "What's something you've never told anyone?" — there was a pause, then a gentle confession.

"I used to be scared I didn't belong in our trio. Like, you and Milo had this perfect rhythm, and I was just the guy who wandered in and accidentally stayed."

"You do belong," she told him. "You're kind of the heart, Zack."

That made him go quiet for a while. But in the good kind of way.

Eventually, her voice started to fade. She was drifting, the phone still against her ear, Zack's low murmur about dropped stitches and scarf patterns slowly lulling her into sleep.

He noticed.

"…Hey, Mel?"

No answer.

He smiled into the dark.

"Goodnight," he whispered, letting the line go quiet. "Sweet dreams."

And somewhere, in the soft lavender folds of a wonky, lopsided scarf, a tangled earbud hummed faintly with the last echo of her laughter.