Max woke up with a dull ache pressing against his chest. He didn't move right away. He just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind already spiraling with everything that was waiting for him.
The blanket was twisted around his legs, too warm, too heavy, like it was trying to keep him from facing the day. And honestly? He didn't want to face it.
Because today wasn't just any day.
It was the weekend.
And every weekend came with problems, specifically, one big, unavoidable problem.
Max sighed, peeled the quilt off, and sat up slowly. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and tapped the screen. The date glowed back at him in cold white numbers.
"Yeah. It's real," he muttered. "Weekend again."
That meant it was time to deal with him.
Max unlocked his phone and flicked through his messages, his stomach tightening with every scroll. He knew the text would be there. It always was.
And there it was, bold and blunt as ever:
