The afternoon sun cuts through the blinds in Brielle's living room, warm and indifferent. Your arms are full - three tote bags, someone's denim jacket, and a sweating cup of iced coffee that isn't yours. Across the room, your friends cluster together, phones raised, laughing at angles and filters. They all called you over. You tell yourself it's fine. You're helping. That's what friends do, right? Brielle catches your eye for just a second - not to wave you in, but to check that you're still standing there, still holding everything. She smiles. You smile back. Something small and wordless sits at the edge of the moment, not quite loud enough to name.